


Hope Over Experience

by kimimela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light BDSM, M/M, Mild Language, POV Alternating, Smut, just regarding Draco's seventh year, light internalized homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:13:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 138,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24595075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimimela/pseuds/kimimela
Summary: Just a bloke, his kids, and a former school rival.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 43
Kudos: 131





	1. Reacquaintance

Harry did not set out to become Alastor Moody. He still hopes to retain both his natural eyes by the time he retires, but he has yet to meet an auror who has worked more than a few years who doesn’t have some sort of injury or scar either large or small. The healers did what they could. Harry knows that. Four years ago, while still an assistant deputy auror, he was levitated into St. Mungo’s emergency ward with his right leg feeling like it was on fire. His pant leg smoking, and the stasis charm trying to contain the curse was failing every other minute with dark purple sparks flaring up spectacularly when it did. He was barely restraining his panic at the near certainty he was going to lose his leg. 

He recalls going in and out of consciousness at the time. Hoping to just pass out from the searing pain. Harry was no stranger to pain. He could work through it when necessary, but he was already at the wizarding hospital and dearly wished to wake up to the _after_ part. Healers faces blurred in and out. Peripheral vision creating a tunnel effect that left him dizzy. The healers’ voices disconnected in his foggy mind. He remembers one sharp break into clarity with a stabbing pain surging through his spine like a lightning bolt. He sat up like a shot and shouted “Bloody fucking hell!” as the stasis charm failed for the last time. The smell of burnt fabric and flesh hitting him like a brick to the face causing him to gag.

Thank Merlin he was knocked out then. Albeit by a hasty charm from a very stressed looking healer. He woke up two days later in a cold sweat with what felt like a hairball in his throat and the prickling sensation of pins and needles from the chest down. He remembers looking tiredly to the side, head heavy, to see Ginny sitting beside his hospital bed. 

“You going to stay awake this time?” She had asked, mouth in a firm line and appearing slightly more energized than him. Lily was a month old at the time and neither of them had been sleeping much between balancing a newborn and two small sons.

“W’happed?” Harry responded intelligently.

“It’ll be okay.” Ginny assured, biting her lower lip as she reached out to take his hand. It was one of her patented Molly expressions. Harry knew this meant things were definitely _not_ okay. 

“The healers were able to save your leg - mostly.” She said roughly. And from Harry’s vantage point, he could see his leg wrapped up tight, slightly propped up as it was on a pillow. He tried to wiggle his foot but was quickly dissuaded from that action with an ugly twinge of pain and his stomach dropping.

Six draining weeks of attempted transfigured bone implants later and more aching scar tissue that could not be magicked away, Harry was the proud owner of a golden oak cane made by Ron and a referral to a Healer Hargreeves’ specialty clinic. He’d been a patient there ever since.

In the ensuing years of improved treatments, he was able to largely discontinue use of the cane. Unfortunately, it had become necessary to replace important things like his femur every other year or so once the bone and surrounding tissues became too weak. That, along with a small vial of his prescribed potion every morning delayed the next inevitable bone transfiguration procedure and allowed him the use of his leg - mostly. The blood curse that was imbedded in the explosion that killed two other aurors - including one of his own sergeants who’d been a trainee of his - kept trying to tear Harry’s limb apart where the protego he had cast had failed to protect him.

Healer Hargreeves, a half-blood wizard with eyebrows very nearly as bushy as his mustache and always wearing disheveled robes and button up, was somewhat renowned for his work with curse related injuries. An older man who had prior experience heading a department at St. Mungos with expertise in splinching. The second war had led him to go underground for some time in Wales. Secretly treating muggles, muggleborns, and half-bloods alike as well as creature folk. Since founding his clinic after the war, the Mercury Medical Clinic & Research Center was operating in tandem with a private muggle pharmacy located in London. Harry counted himself lucky to get treatment there.

“You’re range of motion at the knee is less this time around, I see.” Hargreeves informs, kneeling beside Harry’s chair, and finely adjusting the minute knobs on a metallic device that was currently encompassing Harry’s right knee. Harry rather thought it looked a bit like a muggle toy he had seen as a boy with its bended wires and beads going from one end to the other. However, these were whirring along of their own accord. 

“Six months in last time around, we saw greater flexibility here. Of course, this could be due to the different materials we used at the time and the ongoing deterioration to the joint from the curse.” Hargreeves muses, putting his hand to his chin in his pondering way Harry had grown accustomed to seeing.

“Can I work on that in physio?” He asks thinking of the additional exercises he put his right half through to even out the distribution of his strength and flexibility in both legs. As he had been promoted through the ranks to more sedentary work, managing this old injury along with aging were becoming re-occurring obstacles. He had a field exam to pass in a month and was not ready for the aurors under his command see him put out to pasture quite yet. He wanted to at least reach fifty first.

“You can try. I’ll send some pamphlets along with you though I’m certain you’ve done them before when you first came to us.” Hargreeves says, removing the whirring contraption and standing up. “Our research team has been experimenting with a salve that may be of some help too. I believe you fit the criteria for that experimental trial. We’ve made significant progress with dermal treatments to blood curses.”

“I’m willing to try.” Harry responds. It was far from the first time he had volunteered for a new treatment after all. There had been mixed results for him in the past, but he would do a lot to improve use of the leg. A good part of why he continued coming to this clinic, beyond meeting his own needs, was to add to the ongoing research they were doing to help others. The Mercury Clinic had already improved the lives of people in the magical and non-magical populations. It was inspiring to be a part of that work.

Hargreeves checks his watch as Harry’s chart snaps shut on the desk and is summoned by the healer. “You’re welcome to come with me to our research center, Potter. There should be someone there now who can walk you through the trial process for the salve.”

Harry gets to his feet to follow Hargreeves out of the examination room. The corridor outside runs along a few central stations where healers and other medical staff go about their business. He is led through an archway down a short stairway leading to the lab. Potion stations and equipment set up throughout with staff at work. He had been back in the lab a few times before to be shown different equipment and ingredients used in his treatment. Harry had always been impressed by the modern aesthetic and clean smell of the space. The potions classroom of his youth at Hogwarts brought to mind stale air and a deep sense of irritation. This lab was a stark contrast. It was a place Harry would not mind working.

Hargreeves turns sharply and walks to an ajar frosted glass door off to the side. Knocking hard twice. A quiet “Enter,” emanates from the room. The healer gestures Harry to follow, opening the door wider for them both. Harry finds himself in a well-lit office with shelves upon shelves covering every free space of the walls filled with a wide variety of potions equipment and bottles. Another tidy space clearly set up with the lab outside in mind. The space was impressive like so much of the clinic Hargreeves had built, but that isn’t what makes Harry stop in his tracks. 

It is the man sitting behind the desk.

Moving to stand to his full height from his seat behind the desk, perhaps an inch or so taller than Harry, is Draco Malfoy. His first reaction, somewhat embarrassingly, is the sensation of missing a step when going down a flight of stairs. Equilibrium askew and trying to right itself with a small spike of adrenaline. A surprise that Harry was not expecting.

Pale and angular as ever, Malfoy appeared to have grown into his face and lean frame, filling out proportional shoulders to a thin waist. Handsome face professionally neutral gazing at Harry with polite interest. It occurs to him that Malfoy no longer resembled his father as strongly now as the man had before the war. A sneer no longer permanently in place, watching over everything with condescending superiority.

The last time Harry had seen him, Malfoy hadn’t looked much like his father then either. He had been a half-starved, and grey looking teenager, standing before the Wizengamot contrite and broken. The only former death eater to acknowledge his guilt – and the youngest. The man before Harry now had the healthy hair and skin of someone well-nourished who had actually seen the sun in the last month. 

Harry takes - what he hopes - is an invisible deep breath to steady himself. Internally prodding himself to move forward as Hargreeves turns to both in greeting, eyebrows and mustache moving in what Harry assumes to be the man’s customary pleasant smile under all the fluff of his hair.

“Draco, I’ve brought Auror Potter here to see about the fire salamander salve trial.” Hargreeves states, straight to the point. Harry’s chart floats over to gently land on the glossy desk set to the side, facing the room. 

“Classic blood curse from artefact transmodification - a likely candidate for your research - I believe.” Hargreeves pauses, raising his hand to his chin again ponderingly, looking ponderously at Harry with a hint of one just remembering something. “Oh, Potter, this is Draco Malfoy. He's one of our new researchers here – a great addition to our team. Draco, this is Auror Potter.”

“Thank you, sir, but there’s no need for introductions.” Malfoy begins with a slight nod toward Harry. Expression impassive. “We’ve actually met.” The blonde man states, hands moving gracefully behind his back in a polite manner as if awaiting further instruction. The movement reminds Harry momentarily of a waiter. 

Hargreeves nods vigorously making approving noises. Harry is rather reminded of the felt puppets Lily occasionally watched on the telly whenever Hargreeves made these agreeable noises. It never failed to endear him further to the healer.

“Good, very good. I’ll leave you to it then, gentlemen. Please schedule your follow up with reception before you leave, Potter.” Hargreeves reminds him genially, clapping a solid hand once to Harry’s shoulder as he leaves. The door clicking gently behind them. Silence echoes in response. Making it awkward, at least, that is what he feels.

“Hello, Malfoy.” Harry begins reaching out to shake his hand, hoping to start things off in a courteous manner. Uncertain of what to expect. Malfoy makes no move to shake Harry’s hand but does raise a skeptical eyebrow in response, eyes carefully assessing him top to bottom like the newest Nova broom for sale. Harry half expects some smart remark, but Malfoy surprises him. 

“Well, Auror Potter,” Malfoy drawls, turning away and striding over to the desk. Gesturing to one of the comfortable-looking chairs. “Please sit, let us see if you are indeed appropriate for our experimental trial.” 

Harry does as asked and sits in the chair provided as Malfoy opens his chart and begins to read it. Harry takes advantage of the time to observe further the man before him. Malfoy is dressed neatly in the silver trimmed white robes the medical staff at the clinic wore. Looking more orderly than Hargreeves. A well-made dark blue waistcoat covering a paler blue button-up underneath. It occurs to him he has never seen Malfoy in clothing that wasn’t black or a Slytherin emerald green. It's striking. More than it should be probably. Malfoy's hair was no longer severely sleeked back either. Instead now loose and slightly wavy, combed back out of his way. The length an inch or so longer than how Harry remembered it when they were in school. The man seemed more approachable this way. Less severe. Harry is left thinking how good Malfoy looks, forcing himself to survey the room instead.

There are two embossed certificates indicating academic degrees on one shelf and a picture of two women waving in a small frame beside it. Harry vaguely recognizes one of the women, the pretty brunette, but not the other. Except for these, to his eye, there are no other personal items displayed. All the rest are shiny, metallic equipment including a twin to the one Hargreeves used in Harry’s appointment earlier. Some engaging in their individual functions going by the soft tinkling noises of their movement.

“Are you a healer now?” Harry questions curiously, reflecting on what he has observed.

“No. Can you imagine with my history?” Malfoy responds evenly without glancing up, finger tracing the small print located underneath a picture of Harry’s leg following his second transplant procedure. Harry grimaces seeing it. “I am only a researcher as Healer Hargreeves said. I have earned my mastery certifications in potions and dark archaeology and antiquities, but researcher is much more succinct. Don’t you agree?”

“I’d heard you’d been approved for an apprenticeship, but I didn’t know what for.” Harry adds conversationally. It is not too surprising Malfoy went further with school. He was consistently one of the top students of their year. Hermione has netted her own advanced degrees too. It had been maybe a year or two after the war while Harry was a trainee auror that’d he first heard mention of Malfoy’s apprenticeship. Several spouses and teenaged children of death eaters, who’d had different amounts of involvement in the war, had been on probation and/or house arrest at the time. It was not so unusual to hear rumors here and there about them. 

Harry had overheard Malfoy’s probation officer, Auror Bates, complain loudly that Malfoy had managed to avoid an Azkaban sentence and was being allowed to flee the country under the guise of further schooling. Harry had thought at the time Malfoy hadn’t avoided all that much considering he was held in Azkaban for three months along with his father awaiting trial. The dementors had not even been removed by then. Malfoy was given probation and his father sentenced to Azkaban. Left with little money to his name due to Lucius’ frozen assets and Malfoy and his mother paying reparations out of what they retained from her vault. 

As far as Harry knows, the manor was still sealed under orders from the Ministry.

“Yes. I was able to complete both apprenticeships in France.” Malfoy says, closing Harry’s chart, and finally looking up at him with, what Harry thinks, is a rather grave expression. “I was very lucky to have had the opportunity.”

They share a look for a moment, openly studying the other. Grey eyes impassively meeting green. Malfoy’s brow slightly furrowing. Harry, again, has the sense he is being assessed and realizes he does not know Malfoy all that well anymore. It is discomfiting, if Harry’s honest. An irascible, bigoted, arrogant Malfoy he understands. But that version of him may not exist to the same degree any longer. Harry’s last few experiences with Malfoy, years ago now, were heavily laced with the man’s despair and fear. Harry’s instinct is the person who sits before him now is a significantly transformed man – and he has come to trust his instincts.

“Potter,” Malfoy starts slowly, eyes lowering to Harry’s chart, considering, “I know this may be pointless to ask, but are you _really_ here for treatment or are you here to monitor me?”

Or maybe Malfoy hasn't changed all that much. 

Harry sighs, shoulders sagging. Sensing a headache beginning to build.

“Seriously, Malfoy?”

“It is not an unreasonable question.” Malfoy responds indignantly voice sharp, professional expression crumbling into outright suspicion. “I have only been back two months.” Malfoy declares, raising two fingers dramatically in the air, then spreading his arms widely to emphasize his next words. “And here you are! Harry Potter! Our great savior! Do you know, I’ve had three other DMLE employees in, one right after the other? None of them even suffering from maligning blood curses! Supposedly asking their _personal_ healers for a reference here – to me specifically – to be included in our trials. Granted, their charts were not as convincing as yours -”

“Are you really this paranoid?” Harry interrupts, unable to stop himself. “Really? After all these years?”

Malfoy glares, expression unimpressed. “I have _well-earned_ paranoia, Potter. I am not so simple as to assume I am free to move about as I please – not in Britain.” As if to demonstrate the hypocrisy of this statement, Malfoy jumps to his feet to pace the office floor. “At least, be honest with me, Potter. If there is anything about _you_ I trust, it is your noble pursuit for honesty. Do you even suffer from a blood curse?” Malfoy demands, pivoting to face him.

“You saw my chart.” Harry points out logically. “The photos of my surgeries.”

“Papers can be faked and – ” Malfoy grumbles incredulously. “I trust my coworkers, but Circe knows what healers from St. Mungo’s or elsewhere will do under the Ministry’s bidding.”

Harry frowns, mildly offended. “I’ve been coming here for years. I didn’t even know you worked here.”

Malfoy merely raises an eyebrow in response, projecting disbelief. “Then may I examine your leg?”

“Yes.” Harry says, frustrated, kicking out his right leg. He was volunteering for this after all. He could leave any time and not deal with Malfoy’s accusations. Although, what Malfoy said about the DMLE employees coming in for appointments did not ring quite right. It would not be the first time someone at the DMLE had toed the line into auror territory. He may have to look into that. “Please, if it will put you off this.”

Malfoy walks over to him, raising his wand, expression studious again. Harry waits as Malfoy appears to go through a dozen or more diagnostic tests, muttering under his breath. Harry’s leg begins to prickle like it is falling asleep but he tries not to fidget under Malfoy’s intense gaze. Waiting for him to finish.

The man stops suddenly, wand dropping to his side, eyes serious along with a slight frown. Malfoy again shares a look with Harry. It feels more important this time more discerning. “You still have shards from the cursed Mycenaean artefact in your leg from the explosion, correct?”

“Yes.” Harry answers bluntly.

“Any hypersensitivity to temperature - water?”

“Er - yeah.” Harry responds, slightly surprised. It had been some time since that had been brought up. “It’s because of the scar tissue – that’s what the healers said anyways.”

Malfoy shakes his head, appearing lost in thought. “Stand, please.” Malfoy instructs quietly, eyes focusing on Harry’s right leg. Flicking his hand and summoning a measuring tape that begins its work spooling around his limb when Harry rises. 

“A contributing factor, certainly, but I’m guessing baths are out of the question for you, yes?” Harry nods as the measuring tape flies over to his good leg, beginning its work anew. “And any sudden changes in temperature cause swelling and pain. Am I right?

“Yes.”

“But you chose not to amputate anything at all to remove the shards?”

“They told me it was unlikely to be successful considering the shards exposure to my hip and everything. That’s why they went for the implants to work as a counter-curse.” Harry explains with a shrug. It had been a simple decision for him to make at the time. Wanting to get to recovery as quick as possible for work. “And, I still had some function of the leg.”

Malfoy hums, considering. “High risk of splinching in the limb, then. Sensitivity to temperature change. Five bone and tendon transfiguration implants, causing some more damage to the joint sites reaching up to the right side of the pelvis.” Malfoy notes to himself as he reads the small scroll emitting from the measuring tape. “Any impotency?”

Harry flushes and gives Malfoy a sharp look. “Merlin’s tits, it _is_ good you didn’t become a healer. Your bedside manner is awful.” He retorts, going for cheek in his defense. He is glad his dark skin hides most embarrassment. It would have been difficult to hide it otherwise in this case. He is surprised at himself though. Typically, he is better at guarding his reactions away from friends and family. 

It was a critical skill for an auror.

Malfoy’s ears go pink at Harry’s outburst but he continues in the same vein. “It’s a medical condition, Potter, and not an uncommon one when it comes to injuries like yours. Nothing to be ashamed about.”

“No, Malfoy.” Harry forces himself to say without gritting his teeth. He can be an adult here. “No issues there.” He would have brought that up with his healer if it was. He did not have much of a ‘love life,’ as Hermione would call it, but he still managed to pull at the muggle pubs he visited the few times a year when he found an odd weekend here or there alone.

This seems not the thing to say though as Malfoy goes to sit back at his desk with a dramatic sigh, leaning his forehead into his hands. “You’re perfect. Damn it, of course you are.”

“Well,” Harry remarks wryly, recovering his humor in his embarrassment. “I don’t know about that.”

Malfoy gives him a dirty look, crossing and uncrossing his arms. Harry smirks in response as Malfoy takes a deep breath, regaining composure. “For the experimental trials with the fire salamander salve, Potter. You absolute idiot.”

It settles something for Harry when Malfoy resorts to name calling. This is a part of Malfoy’s character he can understand. The prat who still allows Harry to get under his skin not so far hidden beneath the polished veneer of a professional. He can work with this. It is childish but the thought of pestering Malfoy is an exciting one.

A small box is summoned by Malfoy which he opens to show Harry the medicinal tinctures inside. “Each contains at least seven doses worth if used correctly. _Please_ use as prescribed. Dosage instructions are affixed here.” Malfoy states indicating the parchment on the underside of the lid, before pushing the box across the desk to Harry.

“Great.” Harry says, taking the box.

Malfoy sighs again, defeatedly. “We will need you to come in every few days for the next twelve weeks in order to review reactions. The research team is here in the mornings at the clinic. It is our practice to collect data and complete most patient reviews then.”

“Oh, uh, I can’t come in the mornings. I got my kids.” He says apologetically. His schedule is such that he does not often know in advance what time, or even days, he will have off, often scheduling most of his personal appointments on the fly. He did his best to have weekends off to be with his children, but it was not uncommon for him to be called in.

“Very well, afternoon then.” Malfoy suggests easily.

“I’ve work.”

“We are staffed here a few evenings during the –

“Ah. Sorry.” Harry stops him again as Malfoy raises his eyebrow at him. “I’m either still at work or with my kids then.”

“Potter,” Malfoy drawls, leveling Harry with a put-upon expression, “As you’ve managed to be here today, there are surely some times you can come in.”

Harry scratches his neck, thinking. “It’s just Hargreeves only sees me maybe every other month when it's usual checkups, and then it’s never at the same time. Like I said, I have my kids when I’m not working, so I took a half day today.”

Malfoy leans back in his chair, watching Harry. “The children have a mother, yes? Or you have friends still I imagine? Weasleys and such?” Malfoy states in an apathetic tone.

“They help so much already with pickups, and dinner, and looking after them when I’m late at work.” Harry admits with a bashful smile. “I’ve primary custody and Gin’s so busy with her own work. She only gets to see them so much, you know.”

“This is all very interesting, Potter.” Malfoy replies, face displaying the opposite. “But our research requires frequent check ins especially early on. Unfortunately –

“I’ll come in on my break then.” Harry cuts in. He has to pass his field physical in a month and could use any edge he can get. Plus, the idea of seeing Malfoy again – of bothering him into another fit of pique – is a pleasant one. “Around one in the afternoon? I’ve done that before for appointments here.”

“Good.” Malfoy responds curtly, leaning forward. “I will see you in two days.”

-

It was fortunate that he was able to find two food carts he enjoyed on the route he took between the apparation points. One a kebab cart whose owner he had become quite attached to, what with her offering him free samples of her baklava, and the other a fish and chips cart of the sort he saw from time to time as a child but never got to try. Aunt Petunia was deadly certain that food carts were filthy - not good enough for her Duddy-kins. Harry had become an expert over the years on all available apparation points in London and the surrounding areas. In his early twenties he was assigned to patrols in the area and occasional missions that took him throughout the boroughs. But rarely, did he have the time to stroll leisurely between them. 

After a satisfactory amount of poking and prodding, on Malfoy’s part this was done to Harry’s leg, and on Harry’s to eat lunch while out on break, Harry was finally able to convince Malfoy – the posh prat – to join him for lunch _and_ perform his check up on the days they were scheduled to meet.

One stone, two birds.

“You’re here.” Malfoy acknowledges quietly, giving a small nod. Harry knows this is the most favorable greeting he can get as Malfoy values punctuality and bristles at lateness. No matter the excuse.

“I am.” Harry returns, smiling at the stiff-looking man. Appearing somewhat out of place in the muggle park.

They scheduled meet at the fish and chips cart today. Malfoy is sitting on the bench just inside the park. The cart is set in front of the park's entrance to reel in the passing foot traffic. This is the fifth time they have met this way. Harry had hoped Malfoy would be less tense about it. The man seemed more at ease around him the more they met. 

Harry pays for their food out of his own pocket, grabbing the paper napkins Malfoy insists on, and joining Malfoy on the bench. Malfoy, Harry has learned, is a master at wandless notice-me-not spells that allow the man to check Harry’s leg and deter muggles from loitering nearby in case they overhear them. The mastery of this wandless technique had surprised and impressed Harry. He knew a few wizards who could do defense-type spells this way. It was less surprising to learn that Malfoy developed this skill while trying and often failing to navigate around muggles and occasionally interact with them where he lived outside of Paris for the last several years.

“You could buy the food before I get here, you know.” Harry snarks, enjoying Malfoy’s look of distaste at the idea as he hands over Malfoy’s lunch. It is a warm day out for springtime. The muggle park they meet at is often busy. Harry notices it is commonplace for office people to take their lunch and parents to bring their children to play. He and Malfoy look like office workers eating their lunch in the sun.

“I don’t like trying to use the muggle money here. It makes no sense.” Malfoy remarks with a shake of his head, arranging his paper napkin neatly on his lap.

“And sickles and knuts are sensible?” Harry challenges in good humor, before tucking into his own food.

Malfoy hums non-committedly and takes a careful bite, somehow avoiding spilling crumbs that Harry has already managed to coat his front with despite the newspaper covering. “It’s a goblin system. It only makes sense to them.” Malfoy says loftily, after he is finished chewing. “And besides, I _did_ learn how to pay with the euro in France. Those make a modicum of sense in comparison.”

Harry snorts, amused. “Sure. But you know, you could use a credit or debit card? Then you wouldn’t have to mess about with any of that.” He says, half-joking. If you had asked him ten years ago if he would happily spend his lunch break bantering with Malfoy on the finer points of financial transactions in Europe, Harry would have laughed his arse off and told them they had gone mad. 

Now, though -

“I know what those are, Potter.” Malfoy responds, tone mock arrogant. Harry can tell the difference now, Malfoy’s dry humor often surprised and entertained him these days. “You must have muggle identifications to apply for them. I can hardly do that now, can I?”

“Smart wizard like you, seems to me you’d find a way around that.” Harry teases, causing Malfoy’s slight smile, little more than the corner of his mouth lifting. 

Malfoy is usually quick to rein his expression back. It took a few times for Harry to notice. The small smile does not stay for more than it takes to blink. There is still a level of uncertainty in the camaraderie between them. For his part, Harry has the sense that Malfoy is a bit lonely and willing to put up with Harry’s needling. 

“Alright, Potter, enough conspiracy to commit fraud.” Draco dissuades lightly, getting his wand while Harry guffaws. “Let’s see what we can learn from your treatment today.”

After a while, Harry notices a pattern emerge. Malfoy will meet up with him where Harry’s schedule allows. Often arranged the day of with a quickly scribbled note from Harry he sends by his owl, Hestia. They will talk or eat depending, Malfoy will do some quick diagnostics, and if neither has anywhere to be immediately, they will lapse back into conversation. Lately, they have taken to walking around for Malfoy to observe any changes in his stride. It does not hurt that Harry likes Malfoy watching him, can pretend a handsome bloke is checking him out. He will not deny that, and he _does_ believe the salve is helping. He notices less achiness and stiffness which is more of a respite than he’d expected.

They rarely talk about Harry’s work which is a relief to him – most of his work is classified anyways – not that Malfoy pushes whatsoever. Their conversation flows over so many other topics. Debates about quidditch leagues, food and drink, Harry’s children, Malfoy’s work and their shared interest in dark objects that they've both encountered in their careers, Malfoy’s preparations to restore the manor, and the muggle things that befuddle Malfoy to Harry’s frank delight. The day they came upon a group of muggles at the park LARPing as fantasy characters is one Harry will not soon forget. 

They skirt around much talk of the war. Harry has long since girded himself against talking about it too much between the media misrepresenting aspects of his experiences to shielding his children. The most they speak of it is when Harry relates a story about Aunt Petunia locking him in the cupboard following an inadvertent magical outburst. Malfoy had gone oddly silent, and just when Harry was going to ask if he was okay, Malfoy shared about being kept in one of the manor’s dungeons by his own dear aunt during ‘occlumency lessons’. Besides that dark insight, Harry learns bit by bit of Malfoy’s experiences after the war. How he worked tending bar during his apprenticeship at a magical pub – “It was a club, Potter, _really._ ” - run by a part-nymph witch located on the periphery of magical society there. How he refused an arranged marriage set up by his parents before leaving the country.

“What happens when you refuse an arranged marriage?" He inquired, bemused by the whole idea. "Do you lose your membership to the Sacred Twenty-eight or something?”

“You just don’t get married.” Draco replied nonchalantly.

“Be serious.” Harry pried.

Draco sighed then, mouth turning rueful. “In my case, you announce your homosexuality in an argument with your mother. Then run off with your ex-fiancée to Paris and only write to your father once a year for the next several years.”

Harry had quite the laugh at that. Erupting into a deep belly laugh. They had had to stop walking on the sidewalk and caused a bit of a traffic jam. His mind conjuring up images of Narcissa and Lucius’s shocked and upset faces. 

Draco as matter of fact as can be, adding, “Astoria was quite keen to leave too considering her greatest motivation in life was to work at a burlesque club with muggles – Mother did not care for that bit of news,” provoking Harry to roar more. Draco – for he was Draco to Harry at that point – looking on patiently, trying and failing to suppress a pleased grin.

Harry finds himself looking forward to these meet ups more and more as time goes on and the weeks turn into months. Dressing with a little more care. Checking that there is no ink on his sleeve from Lily practicing her letters beside him. Making more of an attempt to comb his hair. 

He catches himself in the mirror one morning as he is shaving, Jamie and Al at his side brushing their teeth, and realizes it has been nearly three months. The experiment will be over soon, and he will no longer be seeing Draco. All their lunches, their walks, their talks. Joking and laughing with Draco and his small, barely there smiles.

He doesn't want it to end. 

Harry is a bit too old now to write it off as missing a friend. The twist in his stomach when Draco startles to laugh like a quick bark. A trumpet of joy to his ears. How endearing he finds it when Draco mocks him in such a dry, teasing manner that leaves Harry chuckling for days. Harry thought he had forgotten that feeling – or something close to it. Locked it up safe in a vault at the back of his mind to look through when nostalgic. That old feeling has a beginning and an end like all the fairy tales he reads his children. 

Something nice and homey, but not realistic for him. No. No.

“ _Daaa -aad,_ ” Al whines plaintively, tugging at his arm. Harry has the impression Al has been trying to get his attention for a while without getting the response he wanted. Harry didn't mean to ignore Al, but he can admit to tuning out his children when no one is arguing or hurt. Those are the noises he keeps an ear out for.

“ _Dad_.” Jamie mimics loudly, mocking his brother. Jamie often tried to provoke his brother by pointing out such babyish behavior. Al shoots his brother a glare but does not strike out as Jamie stows his toothbrush and passes his brother by to exit the bathroom.

“What?” Harry prompts his son patiently, returning to the task of shaving.

“Can you marry Miss Periwinkle?” Al asks a propros of nothing.

Miss Periwinkle was Al’s teacher, and this was not the first time Harry had been asked. He rather thought Al asked him at odd times to try to startle a yes out of him. Al’s primary motivation for proposing the marriage was to have more access to his teacher’s collection of video games that she kept on hand for their class. His son had become particularly interested in the game that taught beginners charms while practicing with a toy wand. Al had also asked his Uncle Charlie and their neighbor to marry his teacher with no success.

“No, Al, I cannot marry Miss Periwinkle.”

“Why?" Al persists, brow furrowed. Harry loved that his son was curious and stubborn in finding out new things. But sometimes, Harry wished Al could let things go. It made him feel like a hypocrite when he thought that at times.

“She is a very nice lady, but we do not love each other the way people should when they decide to get married.”

Al looks up to him, green eyes wide. “Is that why you and mum can’t be married anymore? You don’t love her like that?”

Harry sighs, wiping off his face with a cloth and putting away his razor. “Yes, partly - though I still love your mum in the way friends love each other. But your mum and I realized we wanted different things in a marriage – that can happen sometimes.”

“What kinds of things?”

Harry frowns, trying to find the right words for his son to understand. “Mummy can tell you what she wanted. I – well – I figured I wanted to be married to someone who knows me better than almost anyone. Someone who knows I make mistakes and loves me despite them. Someone who tries to be kind and wants to be with each other always – even when we’re really, _really_ old.” He says pulling a bit of a silly face at the end for Al at the ‘old’ part.

“Old like granddad and nan?”

Harry nods, “Older than that even.” He replies. Al looks appropriately awed by that statement. The idea of being that old totally alien to him. For Al, his grandparents were the oldest people he knew though Arthur was scarcely seventy.

He is dropping Lily off at nursery school, making his usual assurances that either he or Uncle Ron will pick her up promptly at the end of the day, when it hits him like a stampeding hippogriff. There was someone he had thought of, however fleetingly, when telling Al what sort of person he would marry. Someone he has thought of a lot lately. Harry is not sure if it is the infatuation rearing its head or his re-occurring impulse to do something rash for the fun of it – consequences be damned. Something he has routinely squashed since becoming an auror and especially since becoming a father. He has not dated since his divorce. The one-night stands and the even messier back alley hook ups scratched an itch, but the thought of dating had filled him with dread.

His children were his priority first along with his responsibility to make a safer more just world for them. The idea of adding someone else into that mix – exposing them to the intense scrutiny of his friends or the media was daunting. And he had no idea how his children would react to him bringing round another person to take his attention away from them. No. He didn’t have the time or energy, surely.

But another thought arose as he made his way to work. One he could not quite shake while lining up in the queue inside the atrium. Taking the lifts down to his level and heading straight into his office to review the night shift’s reports. Interoffice paper aeroplane memos flying through the air.

He had been dating though, hadn’t he? Or at least, he could be, the time he spent with Draco had not taken away from his other priorities. In fact, their friendship had been quite separate from nearly everything else in Harry’s life. Ron and Hermione did not even know they became reacquainted let alone friends. It was separate almost as purposefully as the trysts he pursued on the rare occasion he had time to himself. As if, he had walled Draco off as something that should not spill over into the other parts of his life. 

Something private – just for him.

He had never once shared with anyone – not even Gin – about his interest in men. A realization he had made nearly two years into their marriage. He’d shrugged it off as unimportant since he was married to a woman at the time and still very much attracted to women. It was not as if he had any desire to step out on her, not even when he knew their marriage was ending. Then the divorce happened, and he was curious. And, well, he never could leave well enough alone. It was what it was. No one’s business but his own.

But more and more, he wonders if maybe that should change.

-

The clinic is nearly empty when he arrives that evening after work for his last appointment with Draco. It is one of the nights the children stayed over at the Burrow during the week. Harry has not seen Draco’s office in over a month, and it is the same as ever except for more lamps being turned on to light the room.

“You’re here.” Draco says, distractedly. Busy writing something down as he waves Harry in to take his usual seat.

“I am.” Harry answers with a tinge of sadness. Harry watches while Draco finishes up his work. He would miss watching this focused man. Draco threw himself into anything to do with his research Harry had learned. He enjoyed listening to Draco ramble about different obstacles that popped up. It reminded him of Hermione in a way. All that determination to learn everything they could about a subject.

The tape measure and other instruments float around his leg taking their final, extensive evaluation. Draco goes through his own diagnostics, wand aloft, quill taking notes on the desk. Harry would miss even this he thought wistfully.

“Thank you for taking part in this study, Potter.” Draco acknowledges, pulling Harry from his thoughts. “You have provided so much data for us. It will be fascinating to contrast this with our other volunteers.”

“Glad to be of service.” He responds dully.

“What’s wrong, Potter? Kneazle got your tongue?” Draco jokes off-hand making Harry’s heart squeeze. “You are not usually this quiet. Long day?”

“You could say that.” Harry admits. It was true enough. He had been dragging his feet all day trying to avoid thinking about coming here. Let alone actually being here. Seeing Draco buzzing, engrossed in his element.

Draco hums his acknowledgement flourishing his wand to send the instruments back to their places on the shelf. “Well, that's sorted now. I will keep you apprised on the trial's progress. I imagine you will want to continue use of the salve once it's approved for the larger market.”

“Yes, thank you.” Harry really means to be more appreciative and less sullen. The salve did help him quite a lot. He had even been able to tolerate a bath or two which helped reduce achiness. It had been nice to use the master bath’s tub for once instead of just storing his dirty shoes in it.

“Have you had dinner yet?” Draco asks, tone casual.

Harry catches Draco’s questioning expression, suddenly feeling much better than he had. “No,” He replies slowly, “I haven’t.”

“You are welcome to join me.” Draco offers, removing his work robes to hang on a hook, and looking back at Harry again. “We could go to that bird pub nearby you like. What is it called again?”

“Canaries.” Harry supplies. It was a muggle pub with a bird theme. Birders ate there and had their club. The poor creatures were stuffed and showcased all throughout it. Eyes staring. It had made Harry inordinately pleased to witness Draco interact with the muggle waitress there who was dressed as a pigeon. The whole place was bizarre and as far as Harry could tell unattached to the magical community. It didn't hurt that the food was good.

“Yes, that.” Draco says, then pauses. “Unless you don’t feel up to it?”

Harry feels rooted to the spot. Draco looks at him warmly with the small smile that had become Harry’s favorite. It occurs to him that Draco left him an out. Maybe Draco did not know any better than he did where they stood? 

“No – I mean – I’m up for it. Let’s go.” Harry agrees eagerly, getting up as Draco spells the lights off with a flick of his wand. There is an instant where he glimpses the man reflected by the streetlights outside and the dim light of lab behind the door. Pale hair catching the glow like starlight.

“We’re friends, right?” Harry checks as they leave the clinic and begin walking side by side to the pub. It is a bit chilly out though it is nearly summer now. It had rained earlier in the day.

Draco snickers. “Oh, I don’t know. I should really look at your qualifications.”

Harry playfully elbows him. Draco dodging him gracefully, expression mirthful. There is a respite in the conversation though as they walk on. Harry notices Draco hold himself more rigidly like he does when uncomfortable or unsure – falling back on hardline posture.

“Do we get to be friends?” Draco questions tentatively.

“Why not? I think we already are.” He replies with a tilt of his head. Harry selfishly hopes they are anyway. People only wanted things from him now. Sometimes it seemed like the only true friends he has are the ones he made at Hogwarts. Everyone after that had at best become an ally. Harry has grown used to the politics of the ministry where everything is give and take. Being with Draco, spending time with him, feels new and old in the best ways.

“You know why not.” Draco intones significantly.

Harry sobers at that, glancing sideways at Draco. He definitely is not the only one who has been thinking about their relationship. Who are they to each other now the experiment is over? 

“Then why spend time together? What are we doing here?” Harry presses, aware he is pushing them past the invisible line they have drawn before. His impulses competing to see where they stand and to prod at Draco in a deadlock.

“I’m not sure.” Draco returns quietly. “Indulging a whim maybe?”

“What whim is that?”

Draco exhales in a rush, putting his hands in his jacket pockets. “The one where I pretend to be your friend without mixing in all our history – without reminding myself that I cannot be redeemed no matter how many people I help.”

Harry freezes at Draco’s admission, a jolt going through him. They are at the corner where they need to cross. There are a few people out but the closest are several meters away, wrapped up in their own world. Draco takes a few steps before realizing Harry is not there. Halting in place, shoulders tensing. Draco does not turn around to face him.

“I ruined it right?” Draco speaks voice breaking. “We’ve never talked about it outright. It was nice to pretend we could be friends – that you would care at all - but I cannot change what I am, and you cannot change who you are.” Harry watches Draco shake his head. Feeling torn between comforting the man and hearing him out. “It was foolish to convince myself of anything else.” Draco continues harshly. “Astoria always says I’m too focused on the past – that I need to focus on what choices I have in front of me. _You_ can do that. _You_ were the one who tried to be kind – who goes for what they want.”

“Not always.” Harry reproaches. “I have to work at it. I think everyone does. From what I’ve seen of you in the last few months, you do. We couldn’t have gotten on like we have if you didn’t. You wouldn’t have even been working at the clinic if you didn’t want to help others – chose to.” Harry declares, taking the few steps over and, resting his hand on Draco’s upper arm. 

At Harry’s touch, Draco turns to him, expression forlorn. Harry is once again struck by how attracted he is to this man. Even one who looks as miserable as Draco. It is unfair. If it was down solely to logic Harry would not choose this man. Not want this man. Their history alone during the war should be enough for him to never want to associate with Draco again – not agree to be the man’s lab rat let alone his friend. But it is not only up to his head.

It's up to his heart.

“I don’t want to be your friend.” Harry bursts out. Draco winces for a split second before recovering and begins to nod his head in silent acceptance. Harry squeezes Draco’s arm, bringing them face to face with no proper distance apart. Harry can see all the flecks of color in his eyes. Draco’s face flashing a moment between vulnerable and guarded.

“NO! No – sorry!” Harry shouts, stuttering to a stop as he comprehends he yelled all that straight into the man’s face. Feeling his own face flush. “That’s not right. Sorry. I will be your friend. I’d _love_ to be your friend – but you see – I also fancy you.” He tells Draco earnestly.

Draco stares at him. Harry realizes how tightly he is holding onto the man and relaxes his grip. Leaving his hand there. Afraid Draco will turn on the spot and apparate away. “I’m really much smoother than this I promise.” Harry asserts, voice hoarser now after yelling.

The man lowers his head, seemingly dejected. Harry knows he royally fucked this up. It is pathetic how drastically unsure he is in his personal life compared to his professional. If this was a mission, he could be a regular 007 – not that Draco would get that reference. Harry sighs mentally rehearsing a better apology when Draco begins to laugh a bit hysterically. 

Draco raises his head and once he sees Harry’s face barks out another laugh. It is Harry’s turn to feel astonishment now, more than a bit flustered.

“Potter, your face.” Draco comments, smile growing as his laughter gentles into a chuckle. “Don’t make that face, you bloody fool.” The man remarks raising his hands to smooth out Harry’s tense expression. His eyelids fluttering at the feeling of Draco’s cool fingertips brushing over, leaving warmth behind them.

It does not feel strange or awkward. It feels like the sun came out. It makes him glad.

Then he has the sudden sense of where they are. Two thirty something year old men standing in an intimate-looking embrace at the corner of a street somewhere in muggle London at dusk outside of a pub. One of the pedestrians in the distance – a man by the sounds of it – shouts a homophobic slur and two more voices call out simultaneously telling the man to shut up. Another voice pipes up calling out support for them. 

Draco and him.

Draco steps away but holds his gaze with Harry. Face bright and open. Harry has not seen this expression before, and it fills him with a delighted feeling. It is like the end of a great book that his children will want him to re-read with them again and again. Harry knows he looks like a besotted fool, but he cannot help grinning at Draco and doing an excited little shimmy. His children would tell him he looks ridiculous. It is ridiculous, but it is also fun.

“Let’s go to dinner, Potter.” Draco states in the assured tone Harry is most familiar with hearing nowadays, taking Harry’s hand to pull him along. 

Harry doesn't let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to write something in this fandom for years. Quarantine gave me a push. This fic's format is partly inspired by Home is where the symbiote is by HowDidIGetUpHere which is based in the Venom/Marvel universe.


	2. Jamie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Potter children meet Draco Malfoy.

Grimmauld Place was far from the cozy, brightly lit home Jamie started life out in. Jamie’s own first memories of it - when his parents were still married - were of him standing in the dingy, dark foyer while his dad ran up the stairs to get who knows what while he dutifully held his drooling, baby sister. He remembers watching Dad skip the broken step that sagged in the middle with practiced ease. The one Al was always afraid some creature lived underneath because the creak that issued when it was stepped on sounded like the recording of a banshee Uncle George let them listen to once. Dad had laughed when he heard Al mumbling about creepy crawlies under the stairs. He said the worst thing in a cupboard under the stairs was usually spiders. 

This did not alleviate Al's worry.

When Jamie was six and his parents did divorce, Grimmauld was the home his father supplanted them to with a thin smile and two little lines creased between his eyebrows. Dad cast a lot of furtive looks at them during those first few days whenever they gathered round the rough, wooden table for a meal. Saying that first night, “Well, what do you think, sprogs?”

If Jamie remembers right, Al had cried and asked to go back to the Burrow, and Lily spilled her milk all over the table and preceded to splash her hands in the puddle. Kreacher snapped his fingers and produced a sponge.

The house was less dusty by the time that they - Jamie, Al, and Lily - moved in. At least, Al didn't sneeze as much, and Lily’s smudged handprints were not left as frequently on surfaces. Dad enlarged the small windows that ran along the main floor and the basement, making the rooms brighter and bigger seeming. A paned glass door set near the entry of the pantry leading out to the garden. Lighting up the mismatched tiles on the kitchen floor dad had laid one day. Jamie and Al handing different tiles over at intervals for Dad to lay with minimal swearing.

It seemed like the house began to sit up straight like he was so often told to do by his old teacher Mrs. Paddmore. The old furniture was patched up and became functional again reminding him of the Burrow’s hodgepodge collection. Perfect for the forts he and his siblings sometimes built inside the library between the unmatched shelves. Big enough for Dad to crawl in and read them bedtime stories from the worn covers of their Beedle the Bard and Mother Goose books, wand aloft in a glow making the whole fort sparkle to their delight. 

The peeling wallpaper remained in most of the rooms. Faded birds and flowers weaving through the interwoven vines that papered the main corridors and foyer. Lily’s little crayon drawings on the wallpaper, stubbornly too still for the birds flitting around them. Kreacher maintained cleanliness, especially on the main floor, but bemoaned “Master Harry is _not_ finishing the house as befits a proper wizarding home.” And, “Master Harry locks away my mistress’ treasures and her _portrait_.” 

This, Jamie learned, was a sore spot for the old elf.

Jamie imagined that was what was locked in the attic. Once in the early days of their move to Grimmauld, he and Al heard yelling up there and scurried up to the third floor to see what was happening. It sounded like Nan did whenever Granddad brought home an old muggle thingy. A terrible screeching and angry words muffled by the distance.

The two of them watched curiously from around the corner as dad returned down the stairs tucked behind the plain, wooden door on the third floor. The only door in the house that Dad consistently kept locked. Dad shaking his head with a rolled up rug tucked under his arm that would eventually be used to cover the floor where the crunchy carpet was pulled up. Kreacher trailed Dad wringing his gnarled hands piteously, muttering about his mistress and _Master Regulus_ for the rest of the day.

“Who’s Regulus?” Jamie asked one day while he and dad are weeding in the garden. It was a good idea to ask questions when they were in the garden. Most of the time it was just him and Dad who bothered with it. Jamie usually helped him do the weeding and pick whatever they might need for dinner.

“Where did you hear that name?” Dad inquired from where he was in the herb section of their garden, glancing sharply at Jamie.

“Kreacher says it sometimes since we moved here.” Jamie answered honestly. He had heard Kreacher muttering under his breath all his life. He mostly tuned it out. Talking about my mistress this and my mistress that or Master Harry is brave and important and keeps his promises. Over and over again.

Dad quirked his mouth in a frown. “Regulus was my godfather Sirius’ younger brother. He grew up in this house and Kreacher took care of him. He died in the first war.”

Sometimes Dad’s stories ended like that and Jamie knew not to ask more. Al tried occasionally which Jamie could tell made Dad uncomfortable and sad even if he did normally answer. People shook his dad’s hand a lot because of the war, but Jamie didn’t know all that much about it. He knew there were some wizarding wars and his dad fought in one. His other grandparents fought in one too and died. He knew the scar on his dad’s forehead was from it which was partly why Dad kept his dark hair longer. Dad had other scars too like the big ones on his leg, but Jamie thought maybe those were just from being an auror.

The best part of living at Grimmauld was that they were closer to the city and his school friends. Now, they could meet up on weekends within the few blocks they lived to play so long as he was back home before streetlights came on. Al and Lily weren’t allowed yet. He was eight though and could.

It was more interesting in Islington anyway compared to the cottage he had lived in with his parents – even if before he could walk down the lane to the Burrow. Their cottage was just outside of Ottery St. Catchpole near the little unnamed creek that trickled through. Aunt Hermione called it the Hobbit House. Where he and Al had tried to catch tadpoles every spring when they were small while miniscule bowtruckles sneakily popped up to see what they were doing. His mother still owned the cottage and her letters were typically addressed or forwarded there, but Jamie knew she didn't often stay in it because of her job. He knew this because the only times his mum was there, he and his little brother and sister were usually with her.

This is all to say Jamie became used to living at Grimmauld with his dad distractedly leaving half-drunk cups of tea in every room. Used to only seeing his mum on holidays or the occasional weekend. Dad getting them up in the morning and frog marching a half-asleep Al to the bathroom to use the toilet. Then going to get Lily up. Shrugging on his school uniform and having toast march over to his place at the kitchen table for him to smear with butter and jam. Lily fussy about having to be up in the morning at all and pouting while Kreacher chided her to eat breakfast. Al whining about his socks not matching. Dad rushing in, grabbing his own toast, and ushering them to the main floo on the ground floor to take them to school. 

Jamie wasn't best pleased that his parents divorced, after all none of his aunts and uncles did that. Not even Nan and Granddad got divorced, and Nan was always after Granddad about something. But at least a lot of the kids at his school had divorced or single parents too. Ian even had two moms and Abdul’s grandparents took care of him. 

It was alright. He didn't throw wobblies like Lily nearly every day when she wanted attention. He was not a baby who complained and whined like Al when Mum was held up because of training or after a tournament or some such other. He liked to believe he was above needing all that. Besides, he had more time on his own now. He tried to use that time to his advantage. Mum often said he was like her older twin brothers. “Always looking for the next prank.” Mum was always happy when she said that. 

Jamie liked to make her happy.

Sometimes though, he was disappointed with his dad or sad when his younger siblings were upset with Dad too. But these things happened he reasoned. Especially since he knew his dad was _very important_ and _lots of people look to him_. That's what Uncle Percy always said anyway, and even though his other uncles rolled their eyes when Uncle Percy said that, they all seemed to agree. People always stopped and looked at Jamie twice once they knew who his dad was. If they were in a wizarding place, Dad usually looked faintly embarrassed and hurried them along with whatever errand they were there for – which is stupid because wizards and witches were constantly trying to give them fun toys and treats.

At least twice a week, Nan or Uncle Ron would pick them up from school. Gathering them up to go to the Burrow, where they stayed the night and left to school from there. Jamie liked Nan’s breakfasts better anyway. And on the days Dad got them when the final school bell rang, they went to the park or home. Dad would work a while in his office or sit in the garden, drink in hand. At some point, Dad would go to the kitchen to make dinner and the rest of the night was focused on them. Dad smiling and laughing with them. The way he should be.

-

It's curry night when Dad declares they're going out for dinner. Unusual for his dad who loves to cook and stay home. Usually Jamie’s the one who begs to go out, so he's excited when they get to the muggle restaurant. He’s had pizza before of course, but he’s never seen it made like this. The people behind the counters have a show of kneading the dough while others spin it in the air. There are large brick ovens in back where the bakers put the pizzas in on large wooden spatulas that they’re told are called pizza peels. Other children have gathered around to watch and go back and forth to their tables from there. The place is busy. Jamie knows the other kids are muggles. He can tell by the way they dress and the cell phones some of them have. Most wizarding kids he knows don’t have those. In fact, the only adults he knows that do are his dad and Aunt Hermione.

Jamie moves Lily in front of him so she can see better. It’s one of his jobs. He used to do it for Al, but then Al kept breaking his bubbling bizbee he’d got special from Uncle George. Not even a Reparo could save it after the fifteenth time it broke. It doesn’t matter having Lily in front though because he's taller. Al fends for himself at his side to watch but leaves after a while satisfied with the show. Jamie stays until Lily is ready to go back to the table. Dad'll be mad if they leave her behind because she’s the baby even though she’s four now.

As they walk back, Jamie notices that there is a man sitting at the table with dad. Jamie’s never seen him before. He is very blonde and pale like Jamie's Aunt Fleur and cousin Victorie. His nose and chin are pointy, but it doesn’t look ugly. The man is dressed posher than anyone at the restaurant. He looks even posher compared to Dad who is dressed in a tee and regular jeans obviously more at ease where he sits than the man. Jamie can’t tell if the stranger is a wizard or not, so he doesn’t ask in case the man’s muggle. 

Some of their neighbors are muggle and Jamie knows not to say anything wrong. It upsets them and he doesn’t want to do that. He likes muggles. They gave him the internet. The one time Al did accidental magic in front of their neighbor old Mrs. Kapachian, she cried and had to sit down with how faint she got. Jamie went to get her some water while Dad summoned the Obliviators. Dad eventually calmed her down and herded Mrs. Kapachian’s previously plastic flamingos back into her garden. Then returned them to their original forms. Jamie had wanted to keep one of the birds, but Dad said no.

It's weird though that Dad has someone here out of nowhere. Weirder still that the man is sitting at their table with a drink in front of him like he's going to eat with them.

“Ah, Jamie, Lils.” Dad greets with a bright grin on that Jamie takes to mean he is okay with the stranger there. “This is my friend Draco. He’s joining us for dinner.”

“Hi.” Jamie says shortly as he sits down in his chair. Al is chattering about school and drawing with crayons on the paper placemat, glasses askew. The man – Draco – is nodding along, trying to follow, turning a bit to acknowledge them too with a nod and a slight smile. Once Al gets going it’s hard to get him to stop talking. Jamie knew that better than anyone since they shared a bedroom whenever Teddy stayed over and Al talks in his sleep. Lily walks around to Dad and buries her face in his side, hiding it from the stranger. She didn't like talking to new people. Mum called her ‘slow to warm.’

“Can you say hello to Draco, Lily?” Dad gently prods, resting his hand atop her head.

Lily moves to the side and away from dad’s hand, staring openly at Draco with her lower lip pouted out, brown eyes big. It doesn't look promising.

“Hello, Lily.” Draco greets in a quiet, baritone voice. Posh like Jamie guessed it might be. “I am glad to meet you. Your father says you like to read the Happy Hyena books. You must be good at tongue twisters. That’s important for learning charm work later.” A wizard then, Jamie thinks. It makes more sense now that the man sticks out. Lots of magic people didn't know how to dress around muggles. Draco didn’t do too bad really. Granddad was awful at it.

“She practices them all the time.” Dad tells Draco. “She loves puzzles too.”

Lily beams up at Dad. Pleased to be praised for her cleverness. Jamie frowns. Stupid baby books. Lily drove him mad with those things, constantly dogging him to read with her. He _hated_ reading.

The waiter arrives and delivers their pizzas. A large cheese and a small spinach and mushroom. He and Al each get a piece of the cheese as Dad helps Lily with her plate. Jamie loves the way the gooey cheese gets stringy with every bite. All the best foods are eaten with hands after all. 

His sister is noticeably warmer to Draco for the rest of dinner even going so far as to offer him the purple crayon she starts doodling with on her placemat. Draco haltingly accepts it before she pats his hand expectantly a minute later and asks for it back. She and Al pepper Draco with questions throughout – not letting eating get in their way.

Jamie listens as Draco tries to answer each one. He’s not sure Draco expected so many questions. He’s kind of blinking a lot. It's sort of obvious when adults weren’t used to kids especially little ones like Al and Lily. Jamie almost feels bad for him. Dad laughs at them and pats Draco on the shoulder, leaving his hand there.

“Do you work with Dad?” Al asks between bites of his food, getting grease on his glasses when he adjusts them. “Are you an auror?”

“No.”

“Where do you work?”

“I work at a healing clinic as a researcher.” Draco replies patiently.

“What’s that?” Lily chimes. “Is that a hard job?” Al questions simultaneously.

“My job is to learn all I can about different medicinal items and create new potions to help people if they’re sick or hurt.” Draco explains. “It can be challenging – like a puzzle.” He ends with a look toward Al.

“Do you have kids?” Lily asks around a bite of her food.

“No.” Draco responds, expression bemused.

“Why not?”

“Lily.” Dad reprimands lightly, tone trying to put her off. Jamie guesses it's because Lily is asking about _private stuff._ Lily’s as bad as Al at times, but she doesn’t know as much so you had to tell her.

“That’s all right.” Draco placates, looking between the two. “I did not think I would be very good parent.”

“Why?” Lily questions, expression confused, brow furrowing. Dad sighs defeatedly.

“Just a guess.”

There’s a silence.

“Do you have a girlfriend or a boyfriend?” Al asks.

“I have – I suppose you could call him my boyfriend.” Draco answers, eyes sliding over again to look at Dad. Dad grins back. Looking keen. Jamie thinks they have a joke but he’s not sure what it is. Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron had ‘looks’ like that too sometimes.

Al nods sagely like this is expected. “Our Uncle Charlie has a boyfriend. His name’s Laszlo. He can breathe fire. Can you breathe fire?”

“Not at present.” Draco denies. Jamie thinks that's a shame. He wants to breathe fire when he grows up. More adults should. It does pique his interest enough to ask the only question he cares about.

“Do you like quidditch?!” He demands as everyone at the table looks at him. He remembers too late about being loud indoors and gives dad an apologetic expression. But he wants to know.

“Yes.” Draco affirms. Jamie thinks Draco looks relieved. He's not sure why though. Quidditch is profoundly serious.

“What’s your favorite team?” He continues.

“I grew up rooting for the Falcons." Draco drawls, taping a finger to his chin contemplatively. "But I also cheer the Quiberon Quafflepunchers.” He adds, almost as an afterthought.

Oh no.

Jamie groans and Al puts his head in his hands. 

“French people can't play quidditch!” Al complains loudly causing Lily to giggle madly. Shaking her head repeating, “No, no, no,” like nan.

“Al, you don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Dad reproaches immediately. Jamie knows dad isn't too serious because he’s still got a relaxed expression on. It’s not _the look._ “You’re just repeating what your Uncle Bill says.”

“Am not!” Al refutes. Miffed for being the only one reprimanded.

Jamie takes it upon himself to enlighten Draco. It is possible he doesn’t know. “ _Our_ mum helps coach the Harpies and she used to play for them.” Jamie informs him. “We _don’t_ go for France.”

“Why do you like spinach?” Lily interrupts, poking at the smaller pizza on the table. She is less interested in quidditch. “Daddy doesn’t like spinach. I don’t know why he’s eating it today.”

Jamie is not sure why Dad looks embarrassed. He can tell because Dad’s mouth does that thing where he frowns and tries to keep his mouth from moving at the same time. Draco is smirking and Dad announces it's time for them to leave.

Dad’s paying their tab as they head for the door. Dad reminds Al to hold Lily’s hand before leaving the restaurant. Jamie has to do it half the time and is relieved to be off duty. Lily was famous for wandering away. Dad frequently threatened to use a sticking charm on her in public if she left the group without permission.

Lily runs over and holds Draco’s hand instead though. “Why is your hair so pretty?” She inquires, face tilted up toward the man. Jamie does not hear Draco’s response. He startles when Dad ruffles his hair. He hadn’t heard the door close behind him.

“How’d you like dinner, sprog?” Dad asks cheerily, in an especially good mood tonight. Probably because of the pizza.

“It was good.” Jamie responds, swatting at his dad’s hand in his hair. “Dad, why did Draco come eat with us?”

“He’s my friend.” Dad reasons with a shrug like that answers everything. “What do you think of him?”

Jamie shrugs in turn. “He’s alright, I guess.” It seems weird again. He can’t quite put his finger on why though. Why wouldn’t Dad tell them about having a friend join them for dinner? Dad always said something if they were going to meet up with Luna or Neville. 

Dad is looking at him seriously and Jamie’s not sure why. But things are not off enough to fuss about it. They join the group waiting for them on the sidewalk. Lily still clasping Draco’s hand and Al talking a mile a minute about his class project on dinosaurs. Draco looks dazed.

-

Jamie thinks of himself as someone able to get on with most kids his age. His best mates are Garth, Ian, and Yuri. If he's going to have the best fun it's usually with them. They like quidditch almost as much as him and are up for most games. Before he met Draco, Jamie always thought Uncle Ron was his dad’s best mate. Lately though, he's wondering if Draco might be. But he’s really not sure what they have in common.

Draco starts coming around the house to visit. For several weeks it's for short bursts of time but then it seems like the man is there all day. Jamie’s mostly okay with this. Al and Lily demand most of his attention when they're not off playing. Otherwise, Draco and Dad are alone in the office or Dad’s room. Sometimes even late at night after their bedtime, when Jamie gets up to use the loo, he can see the light on underneath Dad’s door and hear their muffled voices. But they’re adults so they get to stay up later.

Kreacher wants Draco’s attention too - which is weird. Jamie’s never seen Kreacher fall all over himself to serve a visitor. He’s seen Kreacher happy plenty of times. Like on holidays when the house looks best or when important visitors come to meet Dad and he gets to bring out the nice tea set. But Draco is like the Minister of Magic and Christmas all rolled into one. Kreacher _worships_ Draco. Jamie’s not sure why. Draco doesn’t do anything special. If anything, out of all of them, he asks Kreacher to do the most things like take his cloak or umbrella or get them drinks. It's never mean. Jamie knows dad wouldn't let anyone treat Kreacher badly. 

But it is odd.

The first time Draco visits them at Grimmauld, Lily takes the blonde man solemnly by the hand and gives him a tour of the house. Dad thought it was hilarious when Lily introduced Draco to all her dolls and stuffies. Having him shake all the hands of the mayor of her toys - an old stuffie named Octie the Octopus. Al asks Draco all sorts of questions while he shows Draco his room. Draco seems to try to answer all of them thouroughly and even begins to ask Al some too that leave his brother stumped. 

Jamie hangs back then. Watching.

They start going to Draco’s flat too. It’s nice like the hotel he stayed at once with mum when he was seven and she took him to a quidditch tournament in South Africa. It even smells nice like the hotel. The floors are either shiny wood or plush carpet. Both feel nice when you’re just in your socks. All the walls are painted with dark trim. There are a few framed landscapes of the countryside with clouds gently passing by and animals ambling through. Lily likes the picture of a beautiful blonde woman gracefully curtseying in a long, fluffy dress then clasping her hands. Like the wind-up ballerina toy at their house. Draco tells them that’s his mum.

The flat has flowy curtains that hang around the large window that overlooks the street two floors below. It also has stairs that lead up to a lofted office. He, Al, and Lily run up and down the sleek stairs a lot. It's not carpeted like the stairs at home and much easier to slide down. He even plays quidditch announcer up there while Lily and Al run round the room pretending they’re on brooms. Dad charms a circular couch pillow to be their quaffle. Dad and Draco all the while sitting close on the couch watching them as they talk about grown up stuff.

But the best part about Draco’s flat is Olta. She always bakes them the yummiest desserts. Better than Nan’s even. It’s fun to sit on the stools at the kitchen island and watch her bake as she speaks to them in her heavy accent. Ukranian, they learn. Giving them sweets samples as she works. Olta thought it was bizarre dad liked to cook – or that he could. She watched in amazement when Dad showed Draco how to make toasties one time.

She’s a nice house elf. Her ears are shorter than Kreacher’s but no less pointy. Whenever they visit, she has on a new pastel colored dress with a little patterned apron over it and neat little shoes that match. She even shows them her room after Lily asks where she lives. It is on the main floor beside the other bathroom and Draco’s bedroom. Scaled to her size. All the furniture clearly meant for a small person’s use like a dollhouse just big enough for Lily. They tell her how pretty her room is, and the elf seems incredibly pleased by the compliment.

“You only go in there if you have Olta’s permission.” Draco cautions them from outside the house elf’s room. “This is her home too.” 

They nod earnestly in agreement. Jamie doesn’t even cross his fingers. He doesn’t want Olta cross at him. The flat is boring otherwise. Draco doesn’t have a telly or wi-fi like Dad has set up at Grimmauld. Dad lets them bring toys to entertain themselves and some toys start to live there in the big chest that Draco keeps in the open part of the sitting room. It’s just for them. He and Al checked. They find surprise toys in there a few times and some boring books that Al takes. 

They aren’t _supposed_ to touch any of the fragile decoration stuff Draco has on tables and shelves. That causes dad and Draco to say things like:

“Oi, I saw that! Don’t think I didn’t!”

“Put that back down please.” 

“No! Lily – gently.”

“Eyes are for looking, children - not hands.”

“Jamie!”

“James!”

They’re usually at Grimmauld instead. 

-

Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione come by for dinner one night while Draco is there. It's nice for Al and Lily because Rosie and Hugo are their ages. Jamie likes them. He likes all his cousins, but his favorite cousin is Freddie and his next favorite is Louis then somewhere near the bottom are Rosie and Hugo. 

That’s just if he’s honest.

After dinner, Jamie agrees to play hide and seek with them. Hugo and Lily are it right now. They have to be a team because they're so bad at finding the rest of them when it's just one of them alone. Jamie sneaks into the sitting room and hides in the alcove behind the tall, broken grandfather clock Dad stored books in. He’s never hid there before. They won't find him here.

The adults come in chatting and sit down. His aunt and uncle sit on one sofa and Draco and Dad on the other. Draco and Aunt Hermione are in a boring conversation about pewter caldrons. Blah. Uncle Ron looks ill. Jamie wonders if dinner didn't agree with him. That's what Nan would say.

“Are you certain I can’t get you a drink, Weasley?” Draco offers, directing the teapot to fill the cups. “There’s green tea or Darjeeling?”

“I’m fine.” Uncle Ron answers tightly. Looking anything but.

Dad pinches the bridge of his nose where his glasses meet looking unhappy. Maybe he's getting sick too. Jamie hopes he won’t get ill. It'll be okay though; he tries to reassure himself. Draco’s here and he gives them potions for colds and headaches. Draco even puts plasters on Lily’s knee when she's not hurt. Plus, Aunt Audrey will come help if they fire-called her. She's a healer.

“Maybe you need some Pepper Up, dear.” Aunt Hermione suggests, placing a hand on her husband’s knee. “You do look a bit peaky.”

Draco raises a questioning eyebrow at that. “We do have some if you need it.”

“We?” Uncle Ron bursts out accusingly. His face redder all of a sudden. Surprising Jamie into freezing where he's hiding. Uncle Ron could be loud, sure, but he was rarely angry.

“He’s trying to help, Ron.” Dad responds exasperatedly. Jamie never liked to hear that tone. It usually meant more chores. “They both are because you’ve been a right arse all night.”

Jamie despairs when he hears Hugo and Lily going down the stairs to the main floor. He can hear their footsteps as they run past the entrance to the sitting room. This was maybe not the hiding spot he had hoped it would be. He buries himself back into his hidey hole. Hoping no one will notice him.

“I am not being an arse.” Uncle Ron argues. “I’m just not thrilled to discover my best mate has practically moved this –

“Ron.” Aunt Hermione warns, drawing out his name. Jamie cringes.

“Bloody ferret in – which is bad enough – but my nephews and niece live here too! They don’t have a say in being around _him!_ ”

“Oi!” Dad challenges sharply. Jamie bets dad is giving Uncle Ron _the look._ It was withering when directed toward Jamie and his siblings, but he knew most adults shrank under it too.

“Potter, it's okay.” Draco mollifies, sounding calm. “He has a right to be concerned.”

“It is _not_ okay.” Dad disputes. Jamie hears some movement like a glass being set down on the coffee table. “Draco’s been nothing but kind to my children.”

“If Ginny knew –

“Ginny _does_ know.” Dad grinds out irritably. “Do you think I’d have someone here if she didn’t? She’s fine with it by the way even _she_ still trusts my judgement. I know you don’t though.”

“That’s not fair, mate. I could deal with a friendship. Maybe. That is the sort of person you are. I’ve never known you to turn your back on someone. Ever. But this?! This is mad!”

Dad scoffs loudly with a disdainful “Come off it!” and Aunt Hermione murmurs lowly in a frustrated tone.

“Weasley,” Draco drawls, “Are you maybe . . . possibly . . . being a tad homophobic?” He suggests, trailing off at the end.

“You don’t say that to me!” Uncle Ron thunders, making Jamie break out in goosebumps, “Not when you were the biggest bully at Hogwarts for years! Not with all the things you did.”

The room is silent for a heavy moment. Jamie frowns.

“I know what I was.” Draco replies in a serious tone. “I don’t deny it. I know what I am now cannot make up for everything – that it couldn’t.”

Uncle Ron guffaws once loudly in derision. “You’re right for once, Malfoy.”

Jamie has no idea what that means. Draco was a bully? But Dad wouldn't be friends with him if was. That doesn’t make sense. He’s not sure what the rest of it meant.

He wishes he had hidden somewhere else. He’s never heard Dad and Uncle Ron argue like this. He’s only ever heard them fight about quidditch and then those arguments were much more friendly. He peeks his head out from behind the clock. Trying to go unnoticed. Uncle Ron’s arms are crossed, and he is glaring hard at Draco. Dad’s expression is stormy and Aunt Hermione’s is troubled too. Her mouth drawn into a thin line. The whole room is tense. Draco is looking down at his cup, face blank.

There is a high pitched crying suddenly from far off and he ducks his head back. Lily and Hugo run into the room. “Daddy! Draco!” Lily wails. “Al pushed me!”

Jamie slyly peeks out again at the commotion. Lily shoves her way between Dad and Draco on the sofa. Face tear streaked and burying her face under Draco’s arm, one hand grabbing hold of his shirt in her little fist. Sobbing. Hugo launches into a long explanation of Al not coming out when they found him - even though Rosie did when they found her - and then pushing Lily who fell and hurt her arm.

“Al.” Dad calls out. Clearly irritated. Jamie watches him get up and leave the room. Jamie wouldn’t want to be Al right now. Draco pats Lily’s head, gently moving her hair out of her red face. Lily hiccupping, “My a-a-rm, Draco-o-o!”

“May I see your arm?” Draco prompts Lily evenly. Who hiccups again but agrees, sitting back on the sofa. Jamie watches as Draco moves her arm gingerly while Lily whimpers. Lily cries harder when he moves her wrist, pulling it protectively back to her chest. “I don’t believe it is broken, Lily, but we need to put a cold compress on it for a while to help it feel better.” He tells her soothingly. 

Lily nods her head, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Jamie, we found you!” Hugo announces suddenly, bushy hair bouncing in his excitement, distracted from his re-telling of what happened. Jamie doesn’t think it counts considering he left his hiding place of his own accord. Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron exchange a look of bewilderment at his entrance. Draco frowns. Jamie isn’t sure if it’s because of Lily being hurt or the fact he was hiding in the room all along.

Later that night when dad tucks them in, Jamie asks about what the adults were discussing.

“I’m sorry you had to overhear that.” Dad apologizes, forehead lining. “Tonight was a mess. I lost my temper a bit and that's not okay.”

“Uncle Ron said Draco was a bully.” Jamie presses as he brings his blanket up to cover his chin. “Draco’s not a bully. He’s a bit stuffy and he makes us eat more vegetables. But he’s never mean.”

Dad is quiet for a moment. It is long enough for Jamie to begin to feel unsure. Maybe this was _private stuff_. He was lucky to not get in too much trouble for eavesdropping, but dad had been dealing with Al being naughty and Lily being upset. “Maybe it will help if I tell you a story.” Dad says smiling tiredly at him. “Once upon a time, there was a boy who was told by his parents all his life that he was the most special person in the world.”

“Dad," Jamie complains. "I know this story about Cousin Dudley. Spoiling kids is bad. I get it.”

“This is a different story.” Dad corrects, scooching himself on the bed so he is resting against the headboard by Jamie. “This one is about a wizarding boy. He was told he was perfect every day. That all the other people in the world who were different from him and his family were terrible. He believed it too, for a long, long time. And because he believed that, the boy was cruel to everyone he thought was imperfect. He didn't care about their feelings even when they told him it was hurting them.”

“But that’s wrong.” Jamie responds. He wasn’t sure if he liked this story.

“It is wrong. One day the boy met - a wizard. He had been told all his life this wizard was perfect. The _most_ perfect of all the allegedly perfect people. The boy believed the wizard would control all the imperfect people in the world and make it so the perfect people were in charge. The wizard wanted the boy to obey him so he gave him a task. He told the boy to kill someone who wanted to stop the wizard's plans.”

“What did he do?”

“The boy made many plans to kill the person, but the plans kept failing. One after another. Hurting more people every time. Whenever this happened the boy’s parents were hurt by the wizard. He wondered why the wizard would hurt his parents if they were perfect and began to have doubts. He wondered if maybe the wizard was evil like the imperfect people said. He was very scared and confused. Everything he had known to be true in the world was turning out to be a lie. He realized the wizard really was an evil monster but he didn't want his parents to be hurt either. The man the boy was meant to kill offered the boy a chance at redemption. The boy had a choice to turn his back on everything he had ever known or to listen to the evil wizard and kill the man.”

“What did he choose?”

“He chose to spare the man’s life.” Dad tells him, expression far away like he got sometimes.

“So he changed.” Jamie states. Beginning to feel a little more positively toward the boy.

“A little bit.” Dad concedes with a nod. “The boy made a choice that day. He was unsure for an awfully long time if he made the right choice for his family. The monster had them all then and continued to hurt them. But the boy knew he had made the right choice for himself. He chose not to kill.”

“What happened to the boy?”

“The boy kept making choices to help others. He changed more and more each time. Even though he was afraid. Even though if he were caught it meant he and his parents would be harmed – probably killed. But eventually the evil, monstrous wizard was defeated – partly because of one of the good choices he made. The boy was an adult by then. One who knew people are supposed to be different from each other and that no one is perfect.”

“Did he get to be a hero then? Since the monster was gone and he learned his lesson?”

“No." Dad answers slowly. "People remembered his cruelty. They didn't care that he said sorry words and made sorry actions. He understood why he was treated this way. He thought it was fair for what he did. But he still chose to help people anyway.”

“But that’s not fair, Dad.”

“I know, James.” Dad sighs. It must be important. This story. Dad called him James after all.

“But what does that have to do with Uncle Ron and Draco?” He asks still confused.

Dad takes a deep breath. “Draco did bad things like the boy, Jamie. Cruel things he regrets because he started thinking for himself and changed. Uncle Ron doesn’t want to forgive him for all those things. He doesn’t have to. People don’t always forgive.”

“Why?”

“Jamie, you’re old enough now to start learning that people need to think for themselves – that includes you too. They have to determine what’s important to them and figure out right and wrong from there.” Dad states in his stern voice.

“Dad?” Jamie starts after a quiet few seconds.

“Hmmm?”

“I think Uncle Ron should be nicer to Draco." Jamie decides to say. Weighing what he knows now. "Draco’s boring, but you like him.”

Dad huffs a light laugh at that, waving a hand to turn off the bedside lamp. “I do. I like him very much.”

-

It is one of the first cold days of fall, when Dad and Draco sit them down around the kitchen table. It’s not dinner time yet which is suspicious. In fact, Jamie is certain it’s about the glass phoenix figurine that he broke in Dad’s office today. The clear one he kept on his desk next to his laptop. Jamie tried to fix it. Draco’s wand was right there. Jamie knows the spell to fix things. Reparo. He’s heard dad use it a million times. Unfortunately, while the glass shards largely reformed themselves the bird’s head was now on its arse. 

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I gathered you here today.” Dad begins with an air of authority. Jamie imagines this is how he is at work, but probably in trousers then and not the sweatpants dad likes to wear at home.

“This isn’t an interrogation, Potter.” Draco cuts in, leaning against the kitchen counter. Smirking “They’re children not criminal masterminds.”

“Let me handle this, Draco.” Dad responds, pacing in front of them. He’s walking with the cane today. It was never good to upset dad then. He was crankier on those days. Dad stops in front of Lily, leaning on the cane and staring at her. “Lily, is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Lily nods her head. “I love you, Daddy.” She proclaims earnestly. Jamie is impressed. It's a good opener on her part. But she’s too green to know dad sees right through her.

Dad squints at her. “What did you do, Lily bean?”

Lily shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know.” She answers. It’s honest. Jamie will give her that and more importantly dad seems to accept that excuse. Lily wasn’t a very good liar yet and not good at keeping secrets. She usually told the truth at some point when she tried.

“Al?” Dad says accusingly, switching gears. Turning on the heat. Jamie thinks Al doesn’t have to worry. Al puts up a good front but –

“I didn’t do anything. Jamie’s a liar!” Al flails. Which is completely unfair. Al doesn’t know anything. Jamie would know if he knew. Besides, out of the three of them, Al got in trouble the least even _Lily_ got scolded more.

“You. Are. Weak.” Jamie tells his brother emphatically in his most threatening voice. Wishing it sounded more like dad when he’s angry.

“Jamie!” Al yells.

“Al.” Jamie returns in equal measure.

“Lily!” Their sister shouts exuberantly.

“This is going well.” Draco comments, picking an invisible piece of lint off his jumper. “If you’ll allow me?”

Dad takes a seat in front of them. Eyes calculating. “Knock yourself out.” He replies, gesturing from Draco to the children sitting across from them.

Draco sits down at the table. Producing his wand with a flourish from his sleeve. Jamie’s heart sinks. It’s a bust. “Children, did you know there is a charm to review recent spells a wand has cast?”

“Really?” Al comments, immediately distracted. “What’s it called?” His brother asks as Jamie’s forehead hits the table in front of him with a thud. Lily giggles. 

“James.”

Jamie looks up. Hoping his puppy dog eyes will do their own particular magic. Then again, it's Draco and he’s immune to such things. Draco gazes back at him benignly. Jamie’s never quite sure how to read him.

“You have something to tell me.” Draco voices quietly. It’s a statement.

“I broke the glass bird.” Jamie admits, dully. “I tried to fix it using your wand.”

Draco nods, not reacting otherwise. “Thank you for your honesty.”

Jamie hangs his head morosely. Waiting for dad to give him his punishment. He isn’t allowed to use a wand until he gets his own. He knows that, but wands _like_ him. He’s like a magnet for them. It is hard for him to resist. They are each so different. It's the same way with brooms.

“I gave that figurine to your father as a gift.” Draco tells him, seeming serious with his pointy face focused on Jamie. “Did you know that?”

“No.” He answers, nonplussed. He really didn’t. He is not sure why that matters.

“We wondered – your father and I – if you had broken it purposefully because of our relationship.”

Jamie frowns, confused. "I wouldn’t break something you gave dad just cause your friends.” He responds.

Dad and Draco look at each other for a long moment. Dad starts to chuckle and runs a hand distractedly through his messy hair, expression baffled even Draco seems affected. 

“Sprogs,” Dad says, getting their attention. “You might have noticed that Draco visits more than anyone else.”

“Yeah?” He and Al question together. Lily picks her nose. “So?”

“Well, Draco and I are like Uncle Charlie and Laszlo. We're a couple.” Dad explains. Making careful eye contact with each of them in turn. “I like to have him around because we're dating. We have romantic feelings for each other.”

“Like boyfriends?” Al wonders aloud. Tilting his head questioningly to the side. This is news to Jamie too. He supposes it makes sense though – that must be what he was noticing when Draco was with Dad. Why it seemed different than Dad’s other friends. If he thinks about it, Dad does touch Draco more than other adults. He always had a hand on Draco like he might get lost or something. Grimmauld was a big house but it wasn’t _that_ big.

“Yes.” Dad clarifies decisively, bringing Jamie’s attention back to him.

“Okay.” Al says nodding beside Jamie. Al liked Draco except when he agreed with dad about him being naughty.

“Daddy, can we have spaghetti tonight?” Lily asks. Jamie is certain she checked out of the conversation once she realized she wasn’t in trouble. Her vote would be for Draco to date dad anyhow. Lily believed Draco visited just to see her. She even put him in her pictures she sent to Mum with their weekly letter.

“Sure.” Dad responds absently, scratching his head. “I think we have tomato sauce.”

“James?” Draco prompts, returning his attention to him. Grey eyes intent. “What do you think?"

“Spaghetti sounds good.”

Draco smiles a bit but shakes his head. “I was referring to my dating your father. Do you have any questions? Or maybe you would like to tell us what you think of it?”

“Oh, that.” Jamie considers. “No. I guess not.” He determines. Draco didn’t cause any problems so far as Jamie could tell. Draco didn’t boss him either like other adults. Sure, Uncle Ron didn’t like him, but Dad wanted him around. 

So why not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm interested in playing around with different POVs. The chapters I have planned out are mostly Harry or Draco POVs so far. I own nothing but plots! Thanks for reading.


	3. The Gala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golden Trio goes to a charity event.

“You’ve been distracted.” Hermione observes from her spot on the patio bench next to Harry. The children are playing on the playset in the Granger-Weasley’s backyard as they sip wine and watch – like good parents. 

“Is it the Crofton case?” Ron asks leaning back on the lounge chair, stretching out his long legs. He didn't work at the ministry anymore, but his input was often invaluable to Harry. Ron’s years as an auror gave him a unique perspective in addition to his strategic mind.

“No. I’ve done all I can there.” He responds. The case was being tried now. It had been a headache from the start, but that was not the issue on Harry’s mind now.

Hermione nudges him. “Anything we can do?”

Harry takes a breath, feeling nervous. “I need to tell you both something.” He admits, not sure how to say it. Feeling silly for being hesitant around the two people he trusts most.

“Whatever it is we’ll handle it together.” Hermione assures taking his hand. 

He regrets not saying anything before. It never seemed like the right time. When the three of them were together over the last few months most of their conversations revolved around schedules, kids, or the ministry. 

“I don’t really know how to say it so I just will.” Harry says steeling himself. “I’ve started seeing someone the last few weeks.”

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione exclaims, expression pleased, and squeezing his hand tightly, “I’m so glad. We wondered if you would ever put yourself back out there.”

Ron raises his glass in salute. “Good on you, mate.” Harry wonders if Ron would be so pleased if he knew it was Draco he was dating. But that was a conversation for another time. 

“Yeah.” He voices, running his hand through his hair. “I – it’s well – great.” He ends, goofy smile spreading over his face. He had finally convinced Draco to come back with him to Grimmauld the other day while the kids were with Ginny for the weekend. Words weren't enough to express how nice it was to be with someone who cared about him. He had forgotten he liked that.

Hermione beams, white teeth gleaming from her almond-toned skin. Ron grins at them. They are good friends. He is lucky to have them. The thought of dating was ominous enough, but he knew it would be hard for them to navigate. He’d seen that firsthand when Ginny began dating again and they had to figure out how to be supportive of her without hurting him.

Harry shakes his head. He wants to focus here. There was another reason he brought this up. “I wanted to let the two of you know – even if it doesn’t work out – because . . . I’m seeing a man. I’m bisexual.”

He isn't certain he said it aloud for a few moments. It has been a long time since he felt his heart thud in his chest like this in uncertainty. He watches the kids out of his peripheral vision. It looks like they are having fun.

“Thank you for telling us, Harry.” Ron breaks the silence, leaning forward on his elbows. The last time Harry heard such a genuine, sober tone from him was during those first few weeks when Harry was not sure if he was going to hack it as a single parent. “I don’t really know what to tell you, mate, other than we support you. Hermione?”

Both men look at her. Hermione’s lip trembles.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Hermione agrees sounding weepy. She puts her glass down on the brickwork and wraps her arms tightly around him. “We love you, Harry.” She tells him. Harry pats her arm and looks at Ron bewildered but relieved. Ron shrugs, expression suggesting this is what Harry gets when he says something so vulnerable.

“Thanks, guys.” He says gratefully. Hermione lets go and wipes her eyes. Harry really did not mean to make her cry. It is a significant load off his shoulders to share this with them.

“Sorry for making you cry, ‘Mione.”

Hermione just laughs and waves him off. “I’m fine, really. Tell us more about who you are seeing. What’s he like? Where did you meet?”

“Ah. Well,” Harry starts, contemplating how much he wants to say here. It was not his intention to tell them everything now. He and Draco have only been together a handful of weeks. He will have to say something if they continue like this. They are not a flash in the pan. He knows that. It feels like they are building a serious relationship. 

“He’s pretty private – which I’m glad for considering.” He shares gesturing slightly to the scar on his forehead. Ron and Hermione understand immediately, nodding. He knew they would. “He works with some healers. I met him through his work. Um, he’s our age. Never been married. No kids.”

“That’s not vague at all.” Ron comments but he is ribbing him.

“Have the children met him yet?” Hermione questions, glancing over at said sprogs playing on the swing set. Jamie's climbed on top of the play set. He was the risk taker of Harry’s lot although he had a feeling Lily would not be too far behind.

“No.” Harry answers. “I – he knows I have kids. But I wanted to hold off on him meeting them until we’ve been together for longer. I want to be sure.”

“That seems wise.” Ron says. “When are we gonna meet him?”

“Ron!” Hermione rebukes, sitting up straight and giving her husband a sharp look.

“What?!” Ron responds. “I want to check this bloke out. See if he’s good enough for our best friend.”

“Don’t push.” Hermione chides, tutting. “Harry's already opened up so much today.”

“Thanks mum and dad.” Harry comments sarcastically. As much as their bantering entertains him, he really does not want to say more right now. 

Ron raises a hand in defeat. “Alright. I guess we’ll see then.”

-

Nearly two months later, when Harry lands in the floo of Draco’s flat, he is met with a very solid body pulling him through the apartment and into the master bedroom. Draco twists and captures Harry in a kiss against the wall. Harry is certain this is their last stop and is pleasantly surprised when Draco leads him purposefully by the hand to the bed and presses him down by the shoulders to sit. Draco straddles him, wrapping arms around Harry’s shoulders. Harry considers himself lucky.

“How did I earn this?” He asks delightedly, settling his hands on Draco’s hips. Smirking, Draco leans forward to kiss him. Hands coming up to frame Harry’s face. Harry is very much on board for that. Having Draco close like this is a treat. Any time touching Draco was. It could take a while to coax him to this point.

“You’re here.” Draco murmurs when they break apart. Harry smiles up at him. He has a little over an hour before he has to pick up the kids from the Burrow. He wants to make that time count. It's why he came here. It has been two days since he last saw his boyfriend and he has been missing him like a lovesick buffoon. He tries to see Draco, even for a few minutes, once a day. He is glad they could meet up here. 

He slips his hands under Draco’s jumper and pulls the man closer to kiss him thouroughly. Draco is willing enough at first, but then he stops and leans away to look Harry in the eye. Expression teasing. Draco pushes and Harry goes easily, settling back on the bed. Basking. Draco’s hand is warm on his chest. The few times Harry has been in here before did not involve the bed which makes this exciting. Maybe Draco’s missed him too? Draco crawls forward over him, sliding along Harry’s body.

Harry brings his hands up by Draco’s ribs just feeling him as Draco connects their lips again, resting his hips on top of Harry’s own. It's one of _those_ kisses that is leading somewhere. Harry opens his mouth and lets Draco’s tongue in, sucking at it and letting his boyfriend set the pace. Enjoying the sensation with a hum that makes Draco jolt once over him. It starts heating up and Harry reaches to remove his glasses and put them on the mattress next to him so they are out of the way. Draco wriggles and Harry shuffles upward on the bed to make more space for the blonde man between his legs.

He runs his fingers through Draco’s shorter hair. It’s a different texture than his own. Silkier. He gently nudges Draco’s head to the side. His boyfriend takes the hint and begins to kiss the hinge of his jaw. The sensation of Draco kissing his skin with a little bit of teeth is superb as his warm hand cradles Harry’s jaw. Harry has long been in the habit of keeping some stubble and he is fortunate Draco likes it too. It is easier than shaving every day. Plus, there is a cream Draco uses for the stubble burn. The man had so many things in his bathroom it was like a spa in there.

“I like you so much.” Harry says voice deep. Draco nips him and Harry feels himself getting hard. He loved it when Draco started to get a little rough even if it was just the tip of the iceberg. Letting his guard down.

“Me too, Potter.” Draco answers.

“Harry. Merlin, call me Harry now at least.” He grumbles, knowing that will make Draco laugh. Can feel it start from the way his boyfriend slightly shakes above him. The sound of it lovely. Harry squeezes Draco’s side in response.

Draco pulls back, still bracketed above Harry. Hair messed up from his usual loosely combed back style, lips redder. “Harry.” The man states, expression mirthful.

“Ooh. Say it again.” Harry teases with an ornery grin. He wins either way. His boyfriend will repeat his name or get flustered. Draco rolls his eyes, ears turning pink. Flustered, then. Harry slides his thumb over an ear from where his hand is in Draco’s hair. Is it weird to find another man’s ears attractive? Is this a new kink?

He knows it's not weird to find Draco looking so open and vulnerable attractive. His skin was not as perfect close up. Draco had a small mole under the side of his chin and a thin scar at his hair line. Harry loved each of them. It made Draco look real. The man was usually so put together and careful. But of all his boyfriend's physical traits, Draco’s eyes were his favorite. Grey with flecks of silver streaked through, yellow in a thin line around the pupil. He loved seeing Draco’s eyes as he was attentive at work especially now with his pupils blown. 

Harry is incredibly lucky indeed.

“I want to pull you off.” Draco tells him, voice soft as he fidgets with the top button on Harry’s shirt.

Harry stares. “Such boldness, Malfoy.” He jokes. Draco’s hand stops its movement. Harry suspects he pushed his teasing too far. He liked to have fun in bed – even if it was silly fun. In his experience, the most spectacular sex was equal parts heady romance and fun. But Draco was not as experienced as him and more hesitant in these moments. Harry knew that much. He hopes Draco will eventually understand what a fool Harry is in the end if they just do what feels good.

Draco looks unsure, biting his lip. “If you’d rather –

“I would love nothing more, Draco.” Harry reassures running his fingers once again through the ends of Draco’s hair. “I’m all yours.”

The man emits a little sigh but does seem relieved. “I wish I knew better than to be attracted to you.” He mutters.

Harry waggles his eyebrows in his most enticing manner, leaning upward. Draco is laughing when their lips connect again. Harry traces his tongue along the seam of Draco’s lips in supplication. He is pleased when the man lets him in and the kiss is toe curling a second later. He caresses Draco’s side, fingers headed for hem of his boyfriend’s jumper. Skimming his fingers underneath. Draco shifts and works at Harry’s belt.

It is with a rush of cool air and anticipation that Draco wraps his hand around him. Harry groans, shivering and arching into Draco’s touch. Fuck. Draco has learned the spell for lube. Harry thought that was his trick. 

Sly bastard.

It takes a bit for Draco to find a rhythm. Harry moans into their kiss, dragging his hands up to Draco’s chest, jumper bunching up to Draco’s armpits. Criss-cross scars interrupting otherwise smooth skin. He follows their rivulets with his fingertips. Relishing the texture. Draco shudders, burying his face into the crook of Harry’s neck. Hand stuttering, long fingers flexing and re-gripping him and picking up the pace. Twisting up in a corkscrew motion around the head of his cock.

“Fucking hell.” Harry gasps out. Feeling close, balls drawing up. Draco is panting into his neck. Harry can feel him making stilted motions against his thigh. He moves to tweak one of Draco’s nipples and feels Draco bite down on his collarbone in response. They move together like that for a while. Harry gripping Draco’s hair and scratching his hand over Draco’s chest as the man licks his way across Harry’s sternum, biting and blowing as he goes. Back and forth.

It is enough to put Harry over the edge.

He takes a few deep breaths once he has his wits about him, running a hand firmly up Draco’s back, pulling him closer and opening Draco’s trousers with his free hand.

Draco stills. 

“You okay?” Harry checks, halting. He can feel how hard Draco is and kisses the crown of his head where his blonde hair is mussed. Draco still doesn't react. “We can stop.” He reassures. Draco hit the brakes sometimes. Harry was not always sure why.

He feels Draco nod and Harry rubs his back for a few moments, inhaling deeply through his nose. He casts a wordless cleaning charm when his skin begins to feel tacky. Harry does not dare move the inch it would take to check if Draco’s still hard. Draco has not moved further but he doesn't feel as tense anymore either. Body going lax against Harry’s side, legs tangled. Harry grabs his boyfriend’s hand and brings it up to his lips, kissing the knuckles.

“You are very sweet to me.” Draco says quietly. Harry smiles, moving Draco’s fingers so he can feel his lips.

“I think _you_ are the one who is sweet.” He responds. Especially considering the hand job. But Harry doesn’t say that out loud. It's not the time.

Draco huffs. “I am _not_ sweet.”

“Agree to disagree.” He retorts. It's what he would tell his children. Draco moves upward and kisses his cheek. Harry turns his head to return it. Chasing his lips. When Harry opens his eyes, it is to see Draco’s content expression. It fills him with warmth. Checking his watch does not dull it too much. He has a little less than twenty minutes remaining.

“Do you want to come to mine tonight?” Harry asks hopefully not wanting to leave. “I have to get the kids soon, but they’ll be in bed by nine if you want a nightcap.”

Draco’s mouth crooks, looking a bit sorry. “I actually have plans – that is partly why I wanted to see you today. Astoria’s in town for business and to make the usual social rounds. We’re having dinner later.”

“The famous Astoria Greengrass.” Harry remarks. Draco’s best friend and former fiancé. She owned a restaurant and two clubs in France. Harry knew she was rather a socialite over there – and he imagined here to some extent. Astoria worked hard to get where she is as an entrepreneur. Every time Draco talked of her Harry was reminded more than a bit of Sirius. Another pureblood who rejected their parents’ values and lived life on their own terms. Typically by partying. Harry had known of her vaguely at Hogwarts as a mousy, petite brunette in the year behind them. Her sister, Daphne, was in their year in Slytherin. 

“Indeed.” Draco drawls, small smile forming. Harry can tell he is excited. Draco has not been able to see Astoria in person for months. “I actually have a favor to ask.”

“Oh.” Harry voices, interest piqued. 

“She knows about us _obviously_ –

“Obviously.” Harry cuts in joking, earning him a smack on the arm. 

“She wants to meet you.” Draco tells him, eyes earnest. “Not tonight of course, we are seeing Pansy and that lot this evening. _They_ know I am seeing someone but not that it's you. So I thought, the clinic is hosting a charity gala at the end of the week. Astoria’s my plus one and I know you are on the list. You could meet her and leave whenever so there would not be much pressure.”

“I like that idea.” Harry agrees. Giving Draco a sure expression. Astoria is important to Draco. Probably the second most important woman in his life after his mother. She was the only one outside of them that was aware of their relationship. He feels increasing guilt every time he considers that even Ron and Hermione don't know yet. He doesn't want to keep their relationship quiet from his friends much longer. He needs to tell them soon.

“Thank you.” Draco leans forward to kiss him. “Now get out of here, Potter. I know the children are expecting you.”

Harry laughs. Draco never wanted to take time away from the kids.

-

Hermione’s office was the picture of efficiency. It was rare for Harry to encounter a wizarding space that did not seem to be in disarray to some degree. No. Hermione was the master of organization. Front pages of wizarding newspapers hung on the wall proclaiming some of her greatest achievements from creature rights, increasingly independent examination of law enforcement, and working with muggleborn children and their families to transition them into magical culture. Harry was enormously proud of the work she had done through the Wizengamot. He hoped she would be the minister of magic one day.

Lunch today consisted of sushi. A favorite of theirs. Ron was not a fan, so they ate it when they could. Usually in one of their offices for their weekly lunch meeting to catch each other up on any immediate concerns within the ministry.

“How was your date yesterday?” Hermione inquires slyly while dipping a roll in her container of soy sauce. “Ron said you were awfully cheery when you showed up at the Burrow to pick up the children.”

“Can’t a bloke just be happy to see his family?”

Hermione raises an eyebrow, smiling. “Not when they have a love bite on their neck.”

Harry cringes. He thought he got rid of all those, but he had been in a hurry by that point. Damn Ron. 

“You know Molly and Arthur won’t mind, right?” Hermione remarks looking at him shrewdly. “Ron didn’t say anything to them if that’s what you’re concerned about. They want to see you happy too. If anything, I think Molly would be relieved.”

“I know.” He intones. As much as he loves his former in-laws, it's strange to imagine sharing with them that he's dating again. The idea of them learning he is dating Draco is uncomfortable. There were just so many uncertainties. He likes to think Molly and Arthur will come around to the idea once they see how Draco is now. How happy he makes him. Harry just hopes he isn't kidding himself.

“I hope they will be okay with it. And, yeah . . . it was nice to see him. Although it wasn’t so much a date as a snog session.” Harry admits feeling his cheeks heat up and looking down at his bit of sashimi.

Hermione snorts. “Ron is absurdly proud, you should know. He acts like you are going out being so suave.”

“He isn’t wrong.” Harry teases. “I have been known to excite both witches and wizards alike. It is a gift and a curse.”

“Sweet Merlin.” She exclaims with an eye roll. “You know, Ron and I are quite anxious to meet this mystery man too. How long has it been now? Since you’ve gotten together?”

Harry counts back in his head. “Over three months, longer if you count when we were just friends.”

“Is it time yet then?" Hermione prods. "For us to meet him?”

Harry sighs. That is the question he's wrestled with more than any other for some time. “It is.” He agrees. Regardless of what happens, he liked having Draco just to himself, even if it is unrealistic. “Hermione?”

Hermione hums her acknowledgement, focusing on him. Harry didn't want to hurt her, but he wants to live honestly as well. “There is a decent chance you won’t approve of him.”

Her expression turns baffled but no less intent. “Why is that, Harry?” She questions using the tone usually reserved for the kids. Patient, gathering more information.

“He wasn’t exactly a hero in the war. In fact, he regrets a lot of he did and didn’t do then. He has this nagging idea he shouldn’t be with me because of it.” He shares.

His friend shakes her head, smile kind. “A lot of people regret their actions and inactions during the war. It changed all of us. I hope for the better. I'll try not to judge him for it. I hope he makes good choices now. We regret what we do not try after all.”

Harry smiles. “He does – at least, I believe so.” Hermione had a way of making things simple but no less truthful for him.

“Hermione.” Harry begins slowly, getting an idea. “Do you know if you happened to be invited to the Mercury Medical Clinic’s annual gala?”

-

The nicest robes and suits he owns are kept in the way back of his walk-in closet. He was occasionally required to don these whenever he was at a hearing or sitting in on a legislative session of the Wizengamot or going to a real to-do for a charity event like he was this evening. It was the area of the closet he did not venture into much. He considered it largely Kreacher’s domain. 

Tonight, he is wearing one of his more formal grey suits with the evergreen patterned robes Kreacher picked out for him. It's lightweight which is what he prefers. If he never wore thick wool again during a mission it would be too soon. He adjusts his tie as he looks in the mirror.

“Not too bad.” The mirror tells him cheerily. “Fix the cuffs though, dearie.” Harry does as he is told as Kreacher shuts one of the bureaus with a snap of his fingers and Harry’s shoes tap dance out to greet him. Harry grins.

He loves magic.

“Master will not eat the hors d’oeuvres.” Kreacher reprimands him as he leads the shoes over for Harry to step into. “Kreacher is not there to be fixing stains.”

“I won’t.” Harry promises a little offended. He might sneak a small quiche if there is one. Kreacher will not be able to tell. Surely, not?

“Kreacher can be telling when Master snacks.” The old elf mutters under his breath, turning to put the closet back to sorts where they had pulled out options for formal robes this evening.

Harry grimaces. 

“Don’t do that now.” The mirror chides. Harry recovers before Kreacher can see. 

All and all he thinks he looks good. His hair is a lost cause. He gave up on it years ago. But he did his best to comb out his nearly shoulder length hair. Tying it loosely back so it appears a little orderly – or that he had at least tried. Thick, springy jet-black hair still trying to do what it pleases. He tries to imagine what Draco will think. Harry fills out his robes much more nicely than he did as an adolescent. He will never be more than average height, but he has wider shoulders than he could have hoped for as a teenager. His tan skin looks good against the green of his robes, making the earthier undertones stand out. Luna had helped him buy these a few years ago. Her tastes tended toward the bizarre, but she had not steered him wrong yet.

When he arrives by floo at the address given on the invitation, he finds a loosely gathered crowd of witches and wizards dressed formally queuing up to be let into the Georgian-style mansion lit up before him. It had been some time since Harry had been to the Gallows. The mansion of a now extinct pureblood family transformed into a museum of British wizarding history; Harry had been invited here for dozens of events over the years. He waits as the line moves quickly. He gets checked by security and walks into the wide-open marble foyer, staircases descending at its focal point. Heading to the tall arched doorway to the ballroom space he is most familiar with occupying in the past. He notes exits and points of entry as he goes. It's habit anymore. Nodding and offering hellos as wizards and witches he knows from the ministry greet him. He is glad the press is limited here tonight. There have been three journalists he has seen so far. 

Thankfully, none have asked for his picture or statement.

He receives dozens of invitations to charity functions each year. It used to be he would try to attend as many as he could. But then as fatherhood arrived and he had to balance that with work, he backed off. He did try to attend some annual events that supported causes closest to his heart. One of his favorites he had been giving to for years was a creatures’ rights organization. His interest in that was inspired primarily by Remus and Dobby as well as other friends he made over the years.

“Harry, over here!” Hermione calls out, waving him over. Her dark hair is in twists this evening and looks lovely against her gold dress and gossamer, russet colored robes. Ron complements her outfit in his own rich brown robes and navy suit. They look sharp. Harry smiles and gives a slight wave as he heads over. Hermione had been invited tonight like Harry thought. Any invites he received she mostly did as well. She was a prominent official in the DMLE, not to mention a renowned war hero. 

His friends are tucked to the side of the room behind one of the larger, complex sculptures made by an Aberfa daughter of Llacheu depicting the peaceful resolution between magical Welsh clans. 

“There’s an open bar.” Ron tells him, inclining his head meaningfully to one of the spaces squared off to serve guests. He was a good friend. Hermione smiles bemusedly beside them. It was nice sometimes to be dressed up like this out doing adult things instead of chasing after sprogs - which is what he would be doing otherwise. Tonight, that honor fell to one of his few non-Weasley babysitters: Amanda Clearwater. The young auror had a knack with his kids.

“Who’s who?” Harry prompts Hermione as they head to the open bar. It was a game the three of them had invented when they began work at the ministry years ago. They had been meeting so many people back then it felt like a never-ending onslaught. The basic premise of the game was that each pointed someone out to the other until they could not name them. It made Hermione furious when she lost.

Ron grins. He was probably the best at this game. “Your five.” Ron instructs him. Harry looks around and sees an older lady walking past.

“Riva Costas.” Harry correctly identifies. Ron scowls. “Retired curse breaker. Bill’s old mentor. Nice try.”

Harry glances to Hermione. “The gentleman in the pinstriped robes to your left.”

Hermione purses her lips in concentration, but it only takes a moment then her face lights up. “Eldridge Bobbins.” 

“Very good.”

“I try.” Hermione retorts, eyes scanning the crowd around them. “Ooh. Here’s a good one. Ron, the woman in the teal dress.” Harry searches to see who Hermione suggested. 

Ron frowns. “I know I know her.” His friend says slowly as Harry’s eyes land on who they are talking about.

It is Astoria Greengrass naturally. One of the few people he wants to speak with tonight. She sticks out in the crowd of already somewhat eccentric dressers despite her diminutive stature. Dress spun and layered around her, leaving one of her shoulders bare. Her hair is done up with peacock patterned beads stuck through it in a crown-like fashion. Her face is made up nicely as well though Harry doesn't have the words to describe it accurately. It reminds him of the women he would see clubbing when he was younger. She is certainly no longer the mousy girl he half remembers. 

Harry watches her speaking with Hannah Longbottom and another bloke he does not know, drinks in hand. Whatever they are discussing, it is certainly animated.

“I’ve got it! Astoria Greengrass.” Ron announces triumphantly. Hermione pats him on the arm. Ron looks pleased.

“That’s right.” Hermione says, considering the woman. “I heard she was working overseas. I wonder if she is one of the clinic’s patients? She was always such a sickly thing – some chronic issue. She looks well enough now though.”

Harry would have to agree. When they get their drinks, he excuses himself. Citing a need to say hello to Hargreeves and put in some bids for the silent auction. Ron nods genially and Hermione gives him a sly wink.

He had promised her to introduce his boyfriend to them tonight.

No one can move in a straight line with how many people are in the ballroom now. The anterooms off the sides appear mostly full as well from what he can see. People are bidding for items in there. Harry weaves his way toward the stage set up at the back of the room. Large banners hanging down like curtains elegantly framing the stage. He had seen glimpses of clinic workers back there. 

Maybe Draco was there?

“Auror Potter.” He hears a high feminine voice call. Harry turns but it is not one of the women he was hoping to see. Unfortunately, it is Pansy Parkinson and he must be civil with her. For his own reasons, Draco remained friendly with the woman.

“Parkinson.” Harry greets tersely. He has not spoken to her in several years. He had been hoping for a few more. The last time was in court during a hearing where she represented the Prophet. He was not a fan. Parkinson’s heavy lipstick and darkly shadowed eyes made her look older in his opinion. Her face was still a bit puggish but even he had to admit her hair bob framed her face in a flattering way.

“My married name is Goldstein now. I married Anthony Goldstein.” She tells him off-hand, eyes looking him up and down. Harry fleetingly feels bad for Anthony Goldstein. He always thought he was all right. “What brings _you_ here this evening, Potter? I’ve not seen you on the charity circuit in some time.”

“Healer Hargreeves has helped me a lot over the years. I want to support his work.” Harry replies diplomatically, forcing his expression polite but disinterested. “Congratulations on marrying Anthony, I guess.”

She appears somewhat taken aback by that. “Thank you. I know Tony thinks highly of you.” Harry notices she didn't include herself in that statement. “I must say though, this is quite the surprise. Did you know Draco is here too? He works at the clinic.”

Harry looks at her mildly. “Oh?” He says, measuring her reaction. Draco would have told him if he had shared about their dating with Pansy. He wonders what her point is.

“Yes, he is a very respected researcher, you know.” Pansy informs him haughtily. Eyeing him critically, but Harry maintains his cool. “He only just moved back to Britain. He is not causing _anyone_ any problems.”

“I’m sure he isn’t.” Harry attempts to reassure.

“Good.” She states coolly, hand cocked on her hip. “Draco has moved on in his life and he's a good person, believe it or not.”

Harry nods, minding his tongue. “I'm not here to have a fight with Malfoy.”

“Well that’s nice to hear.” Another feminine voice cuts in as Astoria pops out of the crowd next to them. Pansy smiles of all things which is disturbing enough. Harry turns to their welcome interloper. “I think I have this from here, Pans.” Astoria Greengrass says sweetly.

“Are you sure?” Pansy checks, expression scrupulous.

“Oh, most definitely.” Astoria replies smoothly to her friend, looping her arm with Harry’s and looking up at him with a wicked grin. “Shall we go have a look from the balcony, Auror Potter? I haven't been up there yet. It is always good to get perspective, no?”

“I’d like nothing better.”

They stroll away from Pansy, heading to the stairs leading to the wrap around balcony. Astoria firmly leading the way. There is a flash of a camera and Astoria is smiling brightly as they ascend. Harry rather likes her he thinks.

“You are better looking than I remember.” Astoria remarks conversationally. “It is almost a shame my friend snapped you up.”

“Back at you.” Harry counters. Astoria gives him a cheeky grin as they stand by the railing. They are quiet for a few moments, arms still linked, gazing out at the milling crowd.

“There he is.” She says softly into his ear. Harry follows where she is looking and finds Draco talking with some colleagues Harry recognizes. White-blonde hair easy to spot. He looks dashing. There is no other word for it. Draco’s shorter hair is artfully moussed back, and he is dressed in a fitted dark formal suit and robes, white button down contrasting nicely with a deep burgundy tie bringing it all together. Harry wants to put hands on him.

When he turns to Astoria, he finds her already observing him. “I like him.” He tells her honestly. He feels he can be honest with her – that he should.

She smiles at him, but her eyes are guarded. “Is that enough, I wonder? Given your histories?”

“He asked me the same thing.”

Astoria looks mollified. “Of course, he did. Draco is nothing if not cautious, but that does not help him in _this_ particular area, does it, Auror Potter?”

“Please, call me Harry.”

“Harry, then.” Astoria allows. Silence ensues again but it is not uncomfortable especially with the hum of people talking in multiple conversations around them. Harry has the impression Astoria is comfortable everywhere she goes. She has that air of confidence about her.

“He is so dreadfully scared of you.” She says suddenly. Harry cannot quite read her tone. Somewhere between concerned and defensive. Harry looks at her questioningly. She smiles and clutches his arm tightly, eyes sharp. “This is the shovel talk by the by in case you haven’t caught on. You _will not_ hurt him or there will be consequences etc.”

“Is that a threat?” Harry responds neutrally, careful of his tone.

“I would never dream of threatening you.” She replies, suddenly coquettish. “You are an auror after all.”

“This is the most charming non-threat I’ve received in some time.” He retorts. Which is true enough. It seems he swings like a pendulum between praise and threats. Although fewer threats as the years have passed.

Astoria digs her nails in. “He might let himself love you and that is scary for him, Harry.” She whispers gravely to him. “For anyone really, but for Draco it's different. Once Draco loves someone it never goes away. Whatever happens. No matter how much he wishes he would not. He is built that way. Everything else about him he can adapt and learn from for the better but not when it comes to love.”

“I respect that about him.” He tells her, considering her words.

“More people should.” Astoria remarks, watching him and relaxing her hold. “It is an admirable trait: adaptation. Changing for the better. I am going to sound terribly sexist, but I have not known many men who can – change that is. At least not to the degree he has.”

Harry is a little surprised. “Weren’t you always his friend? You almost married, right?”

“No and yes.” She says simply before taking a breath. “He was a bully and I was little less than a wallflower. We didn't have much to do with each other as children. Narcissa invited us to playdates when we were very small, but I was more the tag along to my older sister. We became friends a while after the war when he had stopped being such a shit.”

His own laugh startles him and Astoria giggles along. She has a pretty laugh. Harry can see where her humor aligns with Draco’s dry one.

“Do you ever see her – Narcissa?” Harry inquires curiously. He knows she lives in France at an old Black family property she inherited. Draco exchanged letters with his mother weekly but he did not visit her much.

“Rarely. We are friends of a sort. I admire her.”

“I do too.” Harry agrees recalling that dark forest years ago, cold hands desperate at his neck. Saving him. “I owe her a life debt.”

“Really? Now _that_ is interesting.” She says, tone wondering and her expression thoughtful. “What did she ask for in return?”

“Nothing.” Harry bluntly answers. He had expected during the death eater trials to get a letter pleading her husband and son’s cases, but one never came. His account of Draco and Lucius’ actions during the war likely helped Draco as much as it damned Lucius.

“Curiouser and curiouser.” Astoria takes his hand firmly in her own, like a handshake almost. “Thank you for this little tête-à-tête, Harry. I am now prepared to give Draco my full, unbiased opinion.”

“Which is?” Harry prompts, unable to help himself. He is curious too. Astoria’s opinion carries a lot of weight with Draco.

“You will protect and be loyal to him forever if he lets you.” She replies solemnly, eyes sparkling in her pretty face. “I know your type.”

-

The gala is at its peak when Harry finds himself next to Draco, a way away from others, his back to the wall. Harry casually hands him a drink and continues to sip his own. Keeping an eye out for Ron and Hermione. The lots are being read off by the emcee and winners in the audience being congratulated. Harry watches Hargreeves and several of his staff get their photos taken on stage. Hargreeves eyebrows are making their happy movements. Harry is glad for him.

“Why don’t you go up there and get your picture taken.” Harry prods partly teasing.

“I think you know I want to _raise_ money for our clinic, not lose it.” Draco mutters giving him a slight smirk.

“Harsh.” Harry says, then lowers his voice. “You look stunning tonight. That would only help your cause I think.” Draco’s ears go pink. He is already a bit red in the face from drinking, but Harry can tell he is flustered by the compliment. It will never stop astonishing him how Draco reacts to praise these days.

“I was able to meet up with Astoria. You have fascinating taste in friends.” He comments thinking also of his brief interaction with Pansy as well.

“She said she was able to get you alone.” Draco replies smile small. “I do apologize for that. She tends to be as quick as a hummingbird when people are around. I wanted to introduce you both formally myself, but Astoria does things her way. She cannot _stand_ to go by others’ timelines.”

“I got a hint of that tonight." He remarks. "I like her by the way.”

“That’s nice,” Draco says mock patronizingly. “But it really is more important if _she_ likes _you._ I am sure I will hear all about it in a few hours.”

Harry chuckles, feeling entirely himself here with Draco. It's nice. 

“I saw the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio.” Draco tells him quietly, over his drink. “I don’t think they saw me. They were speaking with the Thomases at the time. Are you certain about tonight? You can still change your mind. I would understand.”

Harry shifts, sighing. “I want to do it now.” He reaffirms, decision made. They had discussed this over fire-call the night before. Draco had seemed torn. He knew Draco wanted what he wanted – to be honest about their relationship with their friends. But he also knew Draco did not want to cause problems in Harry’s life. These wants were in conflict, but Harry believed they could overcome that together.

The lights dim twice in quick succession, indicating the main event. Harry watches the emcee gesture grandly to Hargreeves as he arrives at the podium. He looks as though his house elf did not warn him against hors d’oeuvres. Harry feels jealous.

“Thank you one and all for coming this year.” Hargreeves opens, pleasantly gruff as usual. The grand room and balcony fill with applause for a minute. It is a good crowd, Harry thinks. They are well sloshed. “As many of you know this is our eighth year hosting this event. Every year we at the Mercury Medical Clinic & Research Center focus on a specific research aim to raise money for. This year we have the pleasure of partnering with the Magical Trans Alliance in this effort.”

Here Hargreeves pauses, gathering the attention of the crowd. “Much of our clinic’s work focuses on the injured and ailing but we hope to expand our work by utilizing this research fund - generously amassed by you lovely people - to develop serums to aid our transitioning brothers and sisters be who they are at their core. However they choose to use them to realize their identities. I thank you and my staff for your gracious giving tonight and hope you enjoyed the cocktails and the auction. I would like to take this opportunity now to have MTA’s president Carole Vance speak with you further about their organization’s good work.”

There is more clapping. Harry catches sight of Ron and Hermione in the crowd. Hermione has that look of inspiration. Something has got the gears whirling tonight. Ron seems to know it too from the way he glances down at his wife, smile spreading on his face.

Whatever it is, it will mean more work for them. Good work.

Harry touches Draco’s elbow and indicates for him to follow. They make their way through the crowd slowly to reach Ron and Hermione. It does not escape Harry’s notice that Draco empties his drink with a large gulp and leaves the glass on one of the tall tables scattered throughout the room. Liquid courage for the Slytherin then.

Ron claps eyes on them first. Expression going from cheery to wary. Harry tries to imagine how he would react were he in Ron’s shoes and cautions himself for patience. Ron is the more variable reactor here. Harry believes being in public will force Ron and him to keep their tempers in check instead of blowing a gasket like they would be more likely to do if it were just the four of them.

“Hello again, you two.” Harry greets them. “Can we have a word?” Ron looks puzzled, but Harry looks intently at Hermione. He watches her face phase from befuddlement to shocked understanding to her polite ministry mask.

They arrive in one of the anterooms. A few straggling groups are there, standing around. Draco hangs back a bit from the three of them until Harry reaches back again for his elbow to bring him in, so they are all standing in an intimate circle.

“Malfoy.” Ron states, glancing suspiciously between Harry and Draco. “Long time no see. I thought you had skulked off for good. Why didn’t you stay away?”

Draco’s face remains placid. “Hello to you too, Weasley. Granger.” Draco greets nodding politely to Hermione. Harry looks from Draco to his two best friends. He and Hermione share a long look. Hermione’s eyes questioning and concerned until she breaks eye contact to gaze at Draco.

“Hello, Malfoy.” Hermione returns, politely. “Did you receive my letter?”

“What?” Harry and Ron say at the same time. Confused.

“I did. I appreciated the response.” Draco replies shortly. Harry has the sense his boyfriend is holding himself very still. Waiting in suspense.

“I appreciated your original letter more.” Hermione responds gently. She takes Ron’s hand and looks up at her husband. “He wrote to me and apologized years ago. I kept the letter. I ought to share it with you.”

Ron frowns down at his wife, brow furrowing. Harry had no idea. Draco never told him.

“Ron,” Harry begins, hoping with everything he has got that this will not go badly. “I have someone I want you to meet – well, again.”

Ron stares uncomprehendingly at him. Hermione’s mouth is pursed in the way that she does to suppress a frown. He and Ron call it the Minerva McGonagall behind her back. Draco gulps audibly beside him but maintains his composure. Harry doubts the other two even heard. Harry reaches out and takes Draco’s hand loosely in his own. Giving him the option of breaking away if he wants.

There is a heavy silence.

“No.” Ron says, aghast. Putting it together.

Harry gives his friend what he aims to be a sober look. “Yes. We’ve been seeing each other. It is serious and I want you to know.”

“Have you gone mad?” Ron accuses, eyes wide and expression hard. “Or are you cursed or being black-mailed? Because that is the only way, Harry.”

“Neither I’m afraid.” Harry answers, trying for levity. It does not work. “It just happened. I’m glad it happened – ridiculously so even.”

Ron shakes his head. “ _This_ does not just happen.” 

His friend glares at Draco. Harry is impressed that Draco holds his ground and keeps his hand in Harry’s. He knows it is not easy to face all of Ron’s ire. Ron could be imposing when he wanted. “What did you _do_ , you smarmy ferret?”

“Nothing more than go along with Potter’s madness,” Draco says calmly, voice mild. “And get caught up in it myself.”

“Do you think you’re funny? Ron demands, taking a threatening step forward.

“On occasion.” Draco responds, unmoved. A hint of defiance in his tone.

“Ron.” Hermione intercedes, turning her body more toward her husband and creating a slight buffer. “Let’s hear them out.”

Ron stares at her incredulously. “Did you know about this?!”

“I didn’t know it was Malfoy.” She explains quickly, face concerned. “I _did_ know Harry was planning on introducing us to his boyfriend tonight.”

“And you didn’t think I would want to know that?” Ron replies, staring over his wife’s head at Draco, giving him a dirty look.

“I thought it would be a pleasant surprise.”

“Well, you’re wrong, ‘Mione.” Ron upbraids, causing Hermione to wince. “Nothing pleasant here – not with _him_ around.”

“I can leave.” Draco offers to Harry in a whisper, lips barely moving. “Perhaps it would be better that way.”

“Yes. Leave.” Ron barks. Expression thunderous.

“Quiet, Ron.” Hermione reproaches, sounding more upset. “We’re in public.”

“They are goddamn lucky we are in public.” Ron returns, pointing furiously at them but lowering his voice. 

“I know this is a lot.” Harry cuts in, tone firm. “I’m not unsympathetic to how much of a shock this is, but Draco and I are a couple. This is happening.”

Ron’s mouth is agape.

Draco takes a steadying breath. “Weasley, for the life of me I do not know if this would have gone any better some other way, but I do apologize for the distress I have caused you here tonight.”

“ _You_ are apologizing to _me_?” Ron exclaims, over Hermione’s protests, hands gesticulating. Harry sees some people in the room look over to them. “ _Now_?! About my _distress_ – when you very nearly killed me once! I wonder if you’ve ever apologized to my brother Bill for scaring him for life? Or my other relatives? You do know your people killed one of my brothers – do my parents get an apology?! Apparently, you’ve apologized to my wife, but one never came my way. I’m not good enough for that am I? Are blood traitors worse than muggleborns? I can’t remember now how your twisted mind works. So you will excuse me if I don’t roll out the welcome mat.”

“You are right.” Draco acknowledges, voice quiet but sure. “I am sorry for how horrible I was to you and your family. I can only ask for forgiveness for the things I have done although I know I do not deserve it.”

Harry squeezes Draco’s hand. His boyfriend looks over to him. Harry knows how hard he is trying. For both of them. They knew it would be some version of this. Harry hopes Draco can withstand it.

“I think Draco and I will take off now.” Harry decides, giving his boyfriend a reassuring nod, then turning to look at his friends. Hermione’s face is strained, and Ron is still huffing, face red. “We’ll talk later.”

He goes to step away with Draco, but Hermione stops them. Hand loosely gripping Draco’s wrist as she and Draco share a long look.

“Thank you.” She tells Draco earnestly. “Telling us in person was the best way.”

Draco’s expression cracks. “Of course.” He replies, seeming surprised. “It’s what Harry wanted. It was the right thing to do.”

Harry sends a last glance over to a fuming Ron who turns away from them. Harry sighs. It could have gone worse he supposes. He and Draco walk to the exit. Everyone is clapping. The speaker must have finished, and the emcee is wishing everyone a good night. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Harry asks Draco over the din. Draco nods, but his brow is furrowed. Harry spies Astoria headed their way. Expression guarded again, and people looking confused in her wake. As if she just suddenly ducked out of conversation. He wonders what they look like to her right now. He ducks in closer to whisper in Draco’s ear, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Their reactions don’t change my feelings about you.”

When he pulls back it is to see Draco regarding him, expression conflicted. 

“I want to be with you.” Harry swears to him with conviction. “I’m here.”

That earns a flash of a smile for their inside joke. “You are.” Draco returns appearing more sure. “You are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> J.K's TERF rhetoric has really bothered me. So in response to that, part of this fic lays the foundation for a later story arc involving a trans character and the challenges that face that community. It is my hope in this very small way I can be inclusive in this fandom.


	4. Draco

It is a desolate place. Draco put off coming here for just that reason. Being here made him feel seventeen again. Desperate and scared. Malfoy Manor is a time capsule stuck at the end of May 1998. The moment he crosses the property line he is hit with the smell of ash and decay as if there had been a large fire and somewhere there was something left rotting in water. The metal gates are blown in and rendered useless. Torn apart at the seams. Gouges in the earth where ancient trees stood for centuries. The entire east wing had collapsed during the siege. The great hall burnt to hell. Grand staircase torn apart and sticking oddly out of the second floor. Ballroom, tearoom, pleasure garden, his mother’s bedroom, father’s office, the common family spaces all gone – as if some great, giant beast had ripped into the manor with its claws.

Draco had not been present for that final siege. He had been in a holding cell in Azkaban by then. He wishes he had been at his family's home. The whole place would have been destroyed if he had been there that day. He had no love for the manor at that point. The last year he lived there was spent hiding with mother behind the grey, colorless walls. Aunt Bella prying him away from her to force him through ‘training’. Or worse, the dark lord summoning him to be tortured or to torture or for some other dark task. 

He hated it. All of it. But mostly he had hated himself – that he was too much of a coward to run away. Afraid of what would happen to his parents if he did – particularly his mother. The same woman who begged him to leave her but would not leave her husband. The manor encapsulated all of it for him.

The manor – like many ancient wizarding places – was somewhat sentient and had begun to fester because of its inhabitants during the dark lord's occupation. Mother had explained it best. The estate had been confused about who to serve: his father or the dark lord. Draco witnessed its gradual indifference to his father’s magic and the persistent defensiveness to its supposed new ruler. A fact that did not go unnoticed by the dark lord. All life fleeing from the once vibrant gardens and grounds. The manor was slowly petrifying many months before aurors arrived to oust the last of the death eaters holed up in it.

He suspects the last decent thing his father did was adjust the wards allowing the aurors in that day at the end of May. Of course, Lucius was already in custody by that point so who can say how pure his motivations actually were. Draco wonders what it was like for his father. Watching the place he had been born, raised, and become master of nearly destroyed. Burning before his eyes. A selfish part of Draco hopes it hurts his father still.

Draco was glad. Gleeful even when he heard the news. Laughed hysterically in his cell for what felt like hours. He felt mad then. Just as he would calm another wave of hysterics would hit him. Again and again. His cheeks had hurt from all the grinning he did. The guards mocked him, spat on him, but what did he care? His mother was out of there. The dark lord would never hurt her again.

He did not return to the manor after his release from Azkaban. He joined his mother in the serviceable Victorian townhouse that had been left to her from her mother. One of her few assets not liquidated in the aftermath of the war. It was there he served out his probation. There his friendship with Astoria began. There he began to reflect on who he was and what he had done instead of focusing only on survival.

When he chose to leave with Astoria, it was an opportunity. A chance to be his own person. He believed he would never again return to the country of his birth. Circumstances change of course. They always do. Mother was named the executor of father’s finances a few years after the war. The moment their assets were unfrozen, she paid off all the remaining reparations. Every Malfoy holding, stock, and business was gone except for the manor and the oldest Malfoy vault that she saved for herself. This was fine so far as he was concerned. He had grown accustomed to caring for himself by that point. Proud that he was capable of it. 

It was something father had never even done.

Mother was supportive of his return to Britain and his new employment. Pleased to see him pursue knowledge and create. Those aspirations she could understand. Employment and earning wages were strange concepts to her otherwise. What she outright refused to accept was his choice to live in London and not Wiltshire.

“Malfoys live at the manor.” Mother intoned firmly, expression perturbed at the very thought of him _renting_ in London.

He sighed, feeling put upon. Her occasional visits seemed to provoke that in him. “Not always – if you recall I live here in Paris and you in Marseille.”

“Draco.” Mother reprimanded. Unimpressed.

“The manor is inhospitable. No one can live there, Mother. The ministry has it sealed and for good reason.” He said. The curse breakers had done it. It was even reported in the Prophet during his trial like that would somehow be a slap in the face. They were helping them really. The dark lord and his followers – not to mention his own father – had left numerous unpleasant artefacts and dark magics behind. Elements for future weaponry. Sealing it would significantly reduce the strength if not the purpose of those spells.

“Only because I saw no need to change that if we were both out of country." Mother reasoned. "I felt that was an added bit of protection whilst we are away.”

“We’ve not gone on holiday, Mother.” Draco retorted, causing his mother to lift her brow in disapproval. “The seal doesn’t need to be removed now or ever.”

“It is your birthright." She stated solemnly. "You are the only remaining Malfoy heir.”

“It's a building.” 

“The manor represents what has come before us – before you. It represents important moments in British wizarding history.”

“History made by generations of horrid wizards and witches who terrorized the muggle countryside and hoarded gold and albino creatures.” Draco dryly replied. Unfortunately, this did not amuse his mother.

“Darling.” Mother said pointedly, carefully placing her cup on its saucer with a clink. “Whether you like it or not – and I am well aware not – you will be the twelfth generation Malfoy to hold that land. The last too as you say. Whatever remains of it will represent you and what you have done for our family. You will have the last word so to speak.”

“Mother.” Draco groaned mildly reproaching her. She was impossible when she made up her mind. The guilt did not help either. He knew how much he hurt her by refusing the marriage – refusing to continue their line. Being gay was tolerable to a degree, but refusing tradition -

“I will send a letter to our solicitor requesting the seal be broken. It is time to see what you will do with your inheritance.” She informed him crisply.

“I won’t have much time for the manor.” Draco argued, hoping to reduce her expectations. “My work will be keep me busy enough.”

“Whether it continues to rot or flourish under your care is up to you.” Mother pronounced in the tone that bespoke of her surety at how he would proceed. Draco hated that tone. He was all too familiar with it.

“You know, nothing is preventing you from going there and sorting it.” Draco suggested. A last-ditch attempt and they both knew it.

Mother pursed her lips, studying her son. “It is not for me, Draco. It has always been for you.”

The broad stone walk up is crumbled; scorch marked in places. The west wing’s windows blown out letting in the elements. Draco walks around the side. Getting a lay of the land. Everything is horribly overgrown and it takes some time to get through. It is hard to recognize the gardens and stables that were pristine in his childhood. The pens where father kept the free-roaming peacocks in the winter are splintered and choked by weeds. The main greenhouse seems legitimately dangerous. He will have to have someone else here before he tackles that. Mother and Father kept all manner of flora and fauna in there. All of which left to grow unsupervised.

He considers flying to get an aerial view of the property. He suspects he will see the damage done to the dungeons better from up high. It is likely he will not repair those. A loud crack from apparation occurs then, alerting him to the presence of another.

“Malfoy?” calls out a male voice. 

Draco frowns, following the craggy path down toward the river that separates the estate from their acres of barren farmland and forest. Where the voice emanated. There had been a bridge at the end of the path when he was a boy. He and Greg used to play on it as boys pretending to hunt for trolls. It is swept away now. A natural end to this portion of the property and where he senses the present weakened ward line. 

He discovers Harry Potter in his scarlet auror uniform standing at the foot of it now. Face alert, wiry hair framing his handsome face.

“You’re stalking me.” Draco dryly accuses. It really was becoming a bad habit.

“That’s unfair.” Potter replies unconcerned, pocketing his wand. Draco wonders what he expected to find to have his wand out. The man is still scanning the area like someone may jump out at them. “I’ll have you know I’m here on official business.”

“Really?” Draco drawls, approaching the man. “Do enlighten me.”

Potter tilts his head at him, stepping forward to meet him. “The seal was broken.” He states as if this explains everything.

Draco makes a show of looking around them. “Yes?” He questions sarcastically. Obviously.

Potter rolls his eyes in response. “Some DMLE lads wanted to send a group to cause trouble when the seal was broken. I sent one of the oversight inquisitors to stop them, but I wasn’t sure if I was quick enough.”

“My hero.” Draco states blandly. It is nice of Potter to care – to even think of him. They have been meeting up casually since Potter began participating in his experimental treatment at work. Draco would never admit it aloud, but their meetings were often the highlight of his day. He had few friends in Britain. Pansy was married and busy with her children and Greg spent most of his time working at his wife’s bakery.

Potter smiles warmly at him, green eyes kind. Draco wishes he liked it less. Their friendship was treading on dangerous ground. Potter’s smile dims when he glances around them. Expression darkening. Draco knows Potter would only have grisly memories of this place. He will never forget when the Snatchers dragged Potter and his friends into the manor that awful evening. He had gone completely numb – as if he were not even connected to his body. Aunt Bella demanding he make a positive identification. Voice high and cruel. Granger’s screams echoed in his head long after the captives had escaped.

They still did sometimes.

“So this is the first time anyone’s been here since the war?” Potter asks sounding genuinely curious.

Draco sighs suddenly feeling melancholy. “I believe curse breakers swept the lands a few times in the months afterward, but it's been years since then and no one has entered the actual manor itself since the siege.”

“How are you?” Potter inquires, gesturing to the decrepit manor before them. It is considerate of him. More than Draco deserves.

“Fine.” Draco responds, putting his hands in his pockets. It was mostly true especially now Potter was here. “Better than I ought to be perhaps. I should have come sooner. Mother has been pestering me for updates.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“That _is_ the question, Potter.” Draco tells him. “I suppose I will start work on restoration. Do you know anyone in the market for a dated, fixer-upper?”

Potter chuckles amusement lighting up his face. “Can’t say that I do. But I have an idea of what’s ahead of you. Fixing up Grimmauld Place was exhausting, and I nearly walked away from it a dozen or more times.”

“What made you stay?” Draco questions interested. He knew some of Potter’s experience living there. It sounded little like the Black ancestral home his mother mentioned visiting throughout her childhood. The Grimmauld Place in his mother’s stories was an opulent wizarding home, filled with all manner of dark objects and wizards.

Potter shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “It was Sirius’. I didn’t grow up with many tangible connections to adults who actually cared about me.”

“You have made too many trips to the mind-healer, Potter.” Draco jokes lightly.

“You don’t shame me.” Potter teases back. Making Draco laugh. “Besides, it was good to do something that was all me. See what I fixed on my own – that my kids and I can enjoy spending time there together. Sirius and I didn’t get to have that. It was cathartic in a way.”

Draco hums considering. 

-

It is raining buckets several weeks later when Potter meets him after work. Hair damp and smile winning. They stop at a muggle pub for dinner. It is kind of their thing. It is dating what they are doing now. Harry Potter is dating him. Draco Malfoy. Astoria literally squealed when he told her over fire call. He had had her house elf wake her up the night Potter told him that he fancied him. 

He did not sleep at all that night.

Potter invites him over to his home after dinner which is new. Taking Draco firmly by the hand and running his thumb over Draco’s knuckles like the unfairly charming person he is. Potter side-alongs him to Grimmauld, opening the front door for him and ushering him into the sitting room. Leaving him alone for a moment to investigate his surroundings and get them refreshment.

Draco finds himself examining the numerous photos of the children on the wall. Potter’s children and his godson. Photographs - muggle and wizarding alike - cover the wall in Potter’s sitting room. The children are all ages in these from infant to child. Various Weasley relations are scattered throughout them as well as Potter’s other friends. The children are always smiling or exuberant in some manner. Limbs akimbo and bouncing around, rambunctious in a way Draco was never allowed to be in photos. 

His own pictures as a child were more dignified and respectful in their frames. A favorite of his mother’s was one of the two of them sat, holding hands when he was little more than a toddler. 

He never considered himself good around children - when he did even consider them at all. Potter had shown him a recent picture on the muggle cellular device he owns while they were sat in a corner booth at a muggle café near Draco’s own flat. He had been careful when holding the device as Harry showed him how to scroll to another photo.

“And you can ask it to bring up a certain album too.” Potter had demonstrated asking the device aloud, apparently also called seeri, although Draco was unsure how the device was a seeri too. He imagined because it allowed muggles to see the images.

“Why not just keep the album at home and summon it?” Draco had wondered honestly confused, observing the children rough house and yell over each other. Intrigued that a sound recording was also a feature of the device. Muggles really could be so clever. A fact that would frequently re-astonish him. Potter chuckled, resting his hand on Draco’s shoulder. 

Really Potter was too easy in his affections. 

Draco’s investigation of the photos is interrupted when Potter returns, scotch in hand and another glass being floated over to Draco. An ancient looking house elf is trailing behind him muttering under his breath, hunched over. Draco cannot quite make out what he is saying. This is very possibly the oldest elf Draco has ever laid eyes on based on the grey of his skin and length of his ears.

The creature freezes when he glances at Draco. Eyes widening almost comically in a manner that Draco suspects his face is unused to doing. “Master Harry!” The elf cries out in a raspy voice scolding Potter. Shock apparent.

“Go relax in your room, Kreacher.” Potter tells him with a wave. “We don’t need your help tonight. We can serve ourselves.”

The elf bursts into tears. Potter catches Draco’s gaze looking harassed. Perhaps this is a usual occurrence? Potter did not seem the type to keep a house elf. Always very self-sufficient. The older house elves Draco grew up around took great pride in serving his parents’ guests. It is possible that not being allowed to serve Draco is upsetting the creature.

The elf walks past Potter, ignoring his master and looking at Draco almost reverently. Tears flowing. “Kreacher is remembering. Kreacher knows your magic. You is Miss Cissy’s baby. Miss Cissy brings you here to be showing my mistress.” He whispers intensely, eyes filling again with tears.

Draco is surprised to hear that. He has never been to Grimmauld Place before to his knowledge. Although, this elf is definitely old enough to have served Walburga Black. 

Potter sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Leave us, now, Kreacher.” He orders.

The elf glares at his master but complies with a deep bow toward Draco and a pop away out of the room. Draco hopes he did not offend the elf. Potter clears his throat, getting Draco’s attention again.

“I hope you like scotch.” Potter says, eyes keen. Draco feels the weight of them on him now as he takes his floating drink gladly. Glass cool in his hand. It is stronger than what Draco would normally make himself but Potter seems a bit of a novice at mixology unless it is straight from the tap. It is not bad though. Burns pleasantly on the way down.

They have been dating for some time now in that nebulous way where they both have admitted they are attracted to each other and wondering what will happen next. When Potter’s day allows or the children are with their mother or maternal relatives, they have often found themselves together even if just for a short time. During their time together, they talk about everything and nothing so long as it is not about the war. Mocking Potter’s taste in quidditch teams and Potter teasing him about his ignorance about muggle life. Which is ridiculous. Draco has learned much more about muggle culture in the intervening years. He has become a frequent visitor of the muggle portion of the Louvre. But apparently that has ‘got little to nothing to do with muggle life here’. 

His relationship with Potter makes him feel as he did when he first realized he could be free in Paris all those years ago at the start of his apprenticeship. Free of Britain. Free of his father’s control. The dark shadow of the war slowly drifting to the periphery. Nervous and excited. Bewildered to be alive.

Draco has the distinct since of déjà vu when one drink becomes two and suddenly, he is sideways with Potter snogging him. It is their second kiss technically and not entirely unexpected. Draco hoped accepting Potter’s invitation tonight would lead to something along these lines. 

Potter’s tongue invades his mouth, making Draco’s toes curl in his brogues. Feeling warm all over. He is certain he has not felt – dare he say – giddy in this way since he was fifteen and practicing kissing with Pansy while imagining it was Viktor Krum. It helped that was before Pansy started waxing her mustache and they were still about the same height. 

The man drapes an arm behind Draco's neck as the other hand clutches at his hip. Draco can feel where Potter’s fingers have splayed out. His own hands have found themselves in Potter’s hair. It is not like Potter will care if it gets mussed. Besides, Draco has always been curious about the man’s hair. The very thing that used to be a joke to him is now driving him mad every time he sees it. The strands thick and lush under his fingers.

“Is this okay?” Potter checks breaking their kiss to ask before moving to kiss Draco behind his ear. Hands grasping him more tightly before relaxing their grip in a soothing motion. Leaving him shuddering in their wake.

“Yes.” Draco responds breathily, a bit surprised at the lower octave of his voice. Potter must notice too because Draco gets nipped at sharply and he feels the body over him hum in contentment. Draco feels the smile Potter has on his lips as the man returns to snogging him senseless.

And speaking of Potter’s body. Draco knows Potter is fit – Circe, he has eyes for goodness sake. However, it is quite another thing to have it pressing into him. The reassuring weight and strength of it. Draco is suddenly very appreciative of the auror training regime. He can feel his own body flushing in response. It is a bit overwhelming. His hands wander down to Potter’s shoulder and a bicep. Enjoying the firmness he finds there.

When Draco draws back from the kiss to gasp for air and grapple for some semblance of rationality. Potter remains close, looking steadily at him, but he seems to get the message that Draco needs a moment. Draco swallows once to see Potter’s familiar green eyes so dilated, eyes lidded. Potter breaks into a grin, chuckling under his breath as his head tips forward, bringing their foreheads together.

“I never do this you know.” Potter murmurs to him. Voice lower too, Draco notes. He shivers as Potter’s body moves against him. Causing him to reflexively respond gripping his boyfriend back so they are holding each other. It is the most intimate embrace of his life. It still stuns him how easily Potter can do this with him. “I’ve never taken anyone back home at the end of the night.” The man adds seriously, watching Draco intently.

Oh.

“Oh?” Draco voices intelligently, blinking owlishly. Warm all over and a bit tipsy. It is the loveliest sensation. The base of his spine is tingling where Potter is resting his hand.

“Yeah.” Potter says smile slow and glasses slightly crooked from their position. Draco wishes he found that less hot. “I never date anyone either. Well, er, at least not properly – not with talking and stuff like with you. Not with – well - you know.” Potter gestures to Draco with a nod. As if Draco lying with him on the couch were some sort of statement he is meant to plainly interpret.

“No, I am afraid I don’t know, Potter. Care to inform the class?” Draco retorts brow raising in challenge. It is just to tease Potter of course, but Draco would appreciate some clarification. Potter has consistently dumbfounded him after all.

Potter sighs appearing flustered and maybe a bit embarrassed. Draco has found he still takes great pleasure in causing Potter to squirm. He knows the feeling is mutual. “If I pull someone, they’re muggle and I never see them again." The man explains. "It’s just a stress reliever and we both know that’s all it is. There isn’t any write up in the paper that way. No feelings or people asking questions. And I _never_ bring them to my house - where my kids live.”

Ah.

Draco smirks. “Well, Potter, I am not a muggle. If anyone _did_ see you with me, there would be a write up in the paper with people asking all sorts of _interesting_ questions. And I certainly cannot imagine me relieving any stress of yours. As I recall, I have only ever been quite vexing for you.” It should sound more mocking and haughtier than it comes out. Certainly less fond. Draco’s voice has been doing that lately when Potter is involved. Potter only grins at him, expression assured. Much too handsome for his own good. 

“And you have taken me home, Potter.” Draco points out as an after thought, bemused.

“I think, _Draco,_ ” Potter says mischievously. “I’d like you to call me Harry.”

“You have to earn it.” He counters instantly. Are they really on a first name basis yet? This is Potter after all.

Potter naturally takes this as a challenge. 

The master bedroom is on the second floor, tucked in the back where they pass a library, hallway bathroom, and the children’s playroom. Potter has the decency to look a little shy while he observes Draco looking around. Inside the master suite, there is a small sitting room with a wardrobe and body-length mirror. The master bath and walk in closet doors are both open. Soft light emanating from the bathroom. Draco spies marble tiled floors where he passes.

Potter takes off his cloak, tossing it haphazardly on a chair. Looking back at Draco with a question and a flirty quirk to his lips. Draco answers him by taking Potter by the collar and kissing him hard. He puts all his energy into the kiss. All the excitement of the evening, being here with him, being allowed to touch.

Potter’s hands are hot where they slide Draco's robes off and begin work on the buttons of his shirt. Pulling Draco gently to his bed. How is it possible he can have this? To be allowed to touch? Potter breaks away, yanking off his shirt and unbuttoning his trousers. Draco watches him amused, a smirk growing on his face at Potter’s exuberance. It is contagious and before he can think on it further, he is down to his own tented pants and unbuttoned shirt. Potter is just naked.

Draco’s mind stutters. He knows Potter is far from the short, skinny boy he met when he was eleven or the bedraggled young man he saw at the end of the war. The Potter he is getting to know now is all coppery skin and dark body hair. Smelling vaguely of pine and the ale he had earlier. Scars littered throughout his muscled body - not just the famous one on his face – and particularly on his injured leg where the skin appears gnarled by the knee and calf. Where he was hit by the blood curse. The injury that inadvertently reunited them. Potter is much fitter than him Draco thinks rather bashfully. Still in fighting shape.

The man steps into Draco’s space. Feet touching. Potter reaches out, tracing fingertips over Draco’s scars from the Sectumsempra curse bisecting his torso. Eyes thoughtfully contemplating him.

“I did this.” Potter states quietly, expression sad, and staring at where his fingers touch. Skimming across the scars there. Draco closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and intertwining their fingers. Stopping their movement. He does not want Potter sad because of him. This is the first time someone has seen his chest bare since he got injured. He has always hidden it. There was not a conscious thought to reveal it to Potter tonight, but it seems right.

“I did worse.” He reassures Potter simply. Thinking of the mark on his forearm covered by his sleeve.

It is soft when Potter kisses him then. Draco feels lit up from the inside by it. No one has ever kissed him like that – like he matters.

“I want you to stay the night.” Potter tells him earnestly, peering at him with deep green eyes. Hopeful. “That is, if you want – if you’re comfortable.”

Potter kisses him again. It is not soft. This time it is like the kiss on the couch earlier. All heat and tongues. Potter’s stubble scratching at him is distracting and deliciously good. His boyfriend embraces him, bringing them together. Chest to chest, hip to hip. It is the most skin they have shown each other and felt at once. Potter hard and leaking against him as he bites Draco’s lip. It is like the man wants to possess him. Draco is decidedly okay with that plan at least going by the way his own heart speeds up at the touch. The way his stomach swoops in anticipation. He removes his shirt letting it fall to the ground around their ankles and reaches up, placing his palm on Potter’s cheek.

He turns from the kiss and eyes the bed next to them. He hopes Potter knows what he is asking for. Draco would not have come up here otherwise. Would not allow himself to be held by him because this means something to Draco.

“Let me take care of you.” Potter says directly, chasing the palm on his cheek with his lips. “Let me make you feel good.”

“Okay.” Draco agrees.

Potter moves them to the bed. Hands clutching at each other as Draco’s back hits the mattress. Potter lifts Draco’s hips, making them more comfortable and lowers himself to Draco’s chest, taking a nipple in his mouth and massaging his buttocks. Draco gasps at the sensation, one hand going thoughtlessly to Potter’s hair to grip. The feeling goes straight to his cock. Potter attacks his chest with his teeth and tongue like its his job. Grinding against each other sensually for several moments, friction exquisite. Draco groans when Potter lets up to kiss him in the middle of the chest, leaving small kisses and sucking at Draco’s skin as he makes his way south. It feels like his cock is an iron bar when Potter’s face finally nears. Saliva left from his boyfriend’s kisses cooling on his skin on the trail down. Scars feeling sensitive where he kissed them in his wake. Draco feels his hips twitch upwards once Potter settles by Draco’s groan. Kissing the juncture of his hip above the elastic of his pants, making Draco shiver.

“Potter.” Draco calls out, encouragingly, hand loose in the man’s black hair, running his fingers through it. Savoring the feeling.

“You’re so beautiful.” Potter tells him in a low pitch, opening the fronts of Draco’s pants and wrapping his hand loosely around the base of his cock. “You want it.” He says sounding so sure. How is it that Potter can just say things like that?

Draco grits his teeth. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of agreeing. Gripping the covers with his free hand. Potter does not need encouragement though because he begins leaving open mouth kisses around the head, tongue poking out to lick closer to where Draco wants. Driving him mad.

He leverages himself upward, resting back on his elbows. Forcing himself to watch Potter kissing him so intimately. Seeing that this is real. It is the wrong decision. Potter looks much too confident, focused on his work. Dark hair framing his face where it is coming loose from the tie he had used to keep it out of his face.

“Potter.” Draco tries again, wanting more. “Please.”

Potter’s eyes flick up to him and chuckles. Breath coming out in puffs causing Draco to squirm. Unhurried in his pace, his boyfriend continues licking his way up and down the shaft. Draco can feel his own breathing pick up as he tries to get enough oxygen. He cannot take responsibility for what happens when Potter puts him in his mouth.

Draco’s arms give out immediately as he plops back. Sensation narrowed down to Potter’s mouth. His hips fucking up only to be held back by Potter’s firm hand at his hip. He gets pinched for it, but Potter’s hand leaves his hip momentarily and puts his hand on Draco’s where it is buried in his head. He curls Draco’s hand purposefully to take a stronger grasp on his hair before removing it. Draco pulls at the strands. Moaning when Potter moves to take in more of him.

“Fucking, Circe.” Draco swears when Potter swirls his tongue. Raw nerves lighting up. It is not fair. It is wonderful. It is terrible. Potter is holding him roughly. One hand holding down his hips hard and mouth going at him to take in more, Draco would swear this man has no gag reflex. He feels himself getting close. Balls drawing up. He wants to hold off.

“Harry.” He cries out, trying to signal him. Scratching a little too vigorously at his boyfriend’s scalp. What is the etiquette for warning your boyfriend you are about to come in their mouth? It is not an idea he gets to pursue much longer. Potter’s hand is suddenly pushing Draco’s leg up and over his shoulder, snaking the other hand into the back of his pants. Fingers lubed and circling his hole. Pressing in around the rim. A jolt goes through his body. Draco grips Potter’s hair roughly and the fool just swallows him down.

“Harry!” Draco shouts at the sensation. Coming down his throat.

He feels the gentle kisses Potter is leaving intermittently on Draco’s hip first. Draco realizes he is still fisting the man's hair. He relaxes his hand immediately, and Potter glances up at him. Smile slowly spreading as Draco prompts him up by the chin and Potter goes willingly to meet him. Mouth wet from blowing him. Their kiss is messy and goes on. Draco’s never tasted himself before. He eventually realizes Potter is jacking himself and reaches a hand down half-blindly to help his boyfriend. Potter moans into the kiss when his hand joins in. Draco feels more coordinated as they work together to pull him off. Wondering at the feeling of Potter hard in his hand. The differences between them. His boyfriend tensing and coming a few moments later. Spilling himself on both of them. Draco watches Potter for a while where they lay next to each other. Potter spread nakedly out before him breathing in deeply, eyes closed, and expression satisfied. 

Completely relaxed.

“Don’t fall asleep, Scar-head.” Draco warns lightly hitting him on the arm.

Potter cracks an eye at him looking amused. “Thank you for the orgasm, Potter. It was ever so nice.” The man cracks effecting an accent. Draco is _sure_ Potter is not trying to imitate him. Two can play at that game.

“Oi, mate. Well done.” Draco imitates in turn, trying to recall what Potter said about the last quidditch game they discussed. “Got right in there, you did.”

Potter laughs loudly, putting his arms around Draco. He did not expect Potter to still want to touch him after. It is a pleasant surprise. He rubs his face into Potter’s chest, hair wiry on his face. Feeling secure. Potter mutters a wandless spell and Draco feels much less sticky. Maybe he will spend the night. Potter asked him to after all.

“You called me Harry.” Potter points out smugly. “Twice.”

Draco pretends to be asleep.

-

He wakes to Potter wrapped around him like Devil’s Snare. Snoring lightly. A comforting, heavy weight on him. It occurs to Draco that he is happy. Sleepy and relaxed in this bed with his boyfriend. Pleased to have someone close. He was not certain he would enjoy this part. Staying the night was new enough for him, but it is nice – lovely even. Morning light streaming in, warming his face and highlighting the earthy colors of the bedroom.

His boyfriend starts rubbing his scruff on Draco’s shoulder, indicating he is awake. “You’re here.” Potter notes in a sleepy voice looking blearily up at him. Draco wonders where his glasses are. They were on before they went to sleep last night.

“I am.” Draco responds immediately. It is their stupid inside joke. Draco loves it. “How did you sleep?”

“I’m supposed to ask _you_ that, you’re my guest.” Potter mildly admonishes, running a hand through his hair. It is a complete bird’s nest sticking up at all ends.

“Well I slept horribly.” Draco jokes smiling.

Potter grins in response, relaxing his hold on Draco to stretch, joints popping. Then sighing contentedly. Draco watches him scratch his stomach unselfconsciously. “Glad you stayed anyways.” The man tells him. 

It is strange how easy Potter can be like they have done this a hundred times before. Comfortable in his nudity around Draco. Potter looks over to him with a smirk, resting his head back on Draco’s shoulder. Draco returns the look, placing his hand on Potter’s chest. Interested in the feeling of coarse hair and his heartbeat.

“I don’t pick up the kids for a few hours.” Potter begins sounding more awake. “Do you want breakfast or do you want to fuck or both?”

Draco had not planned for this. He should have. It was foolish of him not to prepare. Idiotic even. He was okay with coming up with Potter last night. Excited. Eager even. But it hits him how new this all is to him making him nervous all of the sudden. The dating. The staying overnight. This is asking too much, yes? They have already done a little more than Draco has with the few muggle blokes who propositioned him at clubs. Potter has seen more of him than he has shown anyone. What if Potter is disappointed in him? Or finds him boring? Most men at their age are more experienced. What if -

“Draco?”

“I – I don’t,” He stops himself, thinning out his lips, brow furrowing. He wishes he could will away his embarrassment and nerves. Can feel his face heating. “Potter, you will probably find me dissatisfying . . . at that.” He forces out.

Potter cocks his head at him, expression confused. “I’m not following.”

Draco squeezes his eyes shut wishing he could be anywhere else. He can _feel_ Potter’s gaze on him. The voice that sounds like Astoria whispers in the back of his head. _B_ _e honest._ He opens his eyes, steeling himself as he holds Potter’s attention.

“I haven’t – it’s not like there weren’t opportunities, mind – but I’ve never been _that_ intimate with anyone before. I am not _uninterested_. But what we did last night is largely the extent of my – well except that last bit – where you,” Here Draco gestures with his finger. Thinking of when Potter massaged at his hole. How much he liked that feeling. Merlin, he is an absolute idiot. He should never have said anything. Potter will not want anything to do with him now. Let alone touch him again.

The look of dawning comprehension and amazement on his boyfriend's face is the worst. Draco wants to hide, in fact, he attempts to pull the covers up to cover his face, but Potter stops him.

“Draco.”

“Just nevermind, Harry.” Draco responds despondently covering his face with his hands. Body tense. “I apologize for bringing it up.”

“Don’t say that.” Potter chides. “I’m glad you told me.”

Draco huffs, keeping his face covered. “Yes, because it is incredibly sexy to find out how much of a novice your boyfriend is at sex.”

“I couldn’t tell." Potter says. "It was the first time we had sex – of course it was a little awkward. I liked it a lot though – if I didn’t make that clear enough before last night. It seemed like you did too.”

“I did.” Draco agrees, slightly lowering his hands to look over at Potter. The prat just looks kindly at him, making Draco’s heart thud in his chest.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, Draco.” His boyfriend assures him.

“I know that!” He bristles, trying to sit up.

Potter just rolls his eyes, taking hold gently of Draco’s wrist, getting him to focus back on him. “If we just do what feels good like last night, we won’t have any problems. I promise.”

Draco relaxes back into the bed. Slightly mollified. “You won’t get bored?” He questions, critically watching Potter’s face. “If we go slow?”

“I’ve been walking around London with you for months just trying to get you to smile at me. Of course, I won’t get bored. I’ve never been bored of you, Draco.” Potter soothes, mouth wry.

Draco nods, reflecting on what Potter is saying. How certain he is. He _could_ always rely on Potter to know his own mind, to tell the truth, even if Draco did not like it. If Potter is willing to let him into his home – his bed, the least Draco can do is continue to meet him halfway and be honest too. This will not work otherwise.

-

They are granted three visits a year separately due to the level of security Lucius is under. How purposefully he is kept isolated from the outside world for fear of his manipulations. Draco has grown used to giving his allotment to his mother. She actually wants to see him. His own feelings are conflicted. He does love his father. He does. It is hard to explain how. Why it is so persistent. The mind healer he met with during his probation helped him to process some of it.

He loves Lucius because he is his father. The same one who taught him to ride brooms and Abraxan horses with equal abandon. A father he admired and wanted to be like in every way. It was what he was _supposed_ to do. Always make him proud. Be clever. Be competitive. Never disappoint. Never look weak. Always hold yourself apart – above. Always _obey._ Father used to walk him down the long portrait hall, pointing out every Malfoy ancestor. Extolling each of their purported virtues. Starting with the great Armand Malfoy who founded the family line in Britain all the way down to the ornate frame of his late grandfather: Abraxas Malfoy. Staid and stately in in his portrait. Greeting them formally, aloof. Lucius was the man who created the foundation of Draco’s beliefs – of himself. 

None of that worked in the end though. 

The last time he spoke to his father in person was on the day they were transported to the Wizengamot courtroom to make their case. Father lecturing him the entire way as their chains rattled about them ominously in the carriage. Draco’s head bowed and wrists raw from the shackles. Skin flaking and bleeding as it tried to heal.

“You will tell them how you acted to save Hogwarts. How you attempted to save Potter from the Fiendfyre. How you turned from the dark lord in the end.” Father intoned. He had regained some strength during his few months in Azkaban by then. It turned out the dark lord was worse than the dementors.

“I will tell them the truth, Father.” Draco had said. Chest aching dully. He had committed himself to being honest to a fault. It was the one brave act he could do. “I will tell them everything.”

And he did.

The solicitor he was assigned was able to convince the council to hear his piece. Draco does not remember all of it. Once he started, he wanted it all out. The courtroom was deathly silent after the initial din. Draco’s voice was as raw as his wrists at the end of it. Breaking and creaking from the disuse. He never bothered to look at the crowd in the court that day. The jeers when he entered the domed courtroom were not encouraging. The few times he glanced up was to gaze defeatedly at the new Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt and the interim head of the DMLE.

It shocked him to his core when he was sentenced to probation and released into his mother’s custody. He had expected years if not decades in Azkaban. He deserved them. The mark on his arm was proof enough of that. He had taken it gladly after all.

Afterward, they stood on the raised dais together. Father and him. Aurors surrounding them and unlocking his shackles just as they reattached the secondary chains to his father’s. Mother crying softly off to the side. Seventy-five years they gave Father. A life sentence. Draco stared at him. Feeling no twinge of guilt. His own testimony had hurt his father. He knew that. It was not meant to be cruel – only truthful.

Father drew himself up, affecting confidence. Another show of his pride. Draco was ashamed of him. Ashamed of his father’s denials. Refusing to acknowledge entirely what he did. Spinning stories. How he damned himself. The dark lord had steered him wrong according to Lucius, but the essential tenets of dark lord's cause remained close to his heart, not that he admitted _that_ to the court. It made Draco sick.

They were allowed to say goodbye. Mother kissing Father on his cheek. Hallowed in and pallid. Wildly different from the handsome face of his youth. Draco knew he fared little better. Father gave him a hard look. Grey eyes so like his own flinty and relentless.

“It is your duty to preserve our good name, Draco.”

If Draco had had his wits about him – he may have told his father to go to hell. But instead he accepted his father’s farewell, briefly clasping his cold hand and watching the man he had idolized be led away by guards. Back to Azkaban.

The last time Father wrote to him was in November 1999. All their correspondence was heavily monitored. They had been instructed to only include personal information which was still subject to censorship before Lucius received it. Mother had sent word that Draco refused the arranged marriage – that he broke off the engagement – that he would be refusing any marriage. She did not inform Father as to the why. Draco assumes she did this to maintain the family’s privacy as much as Father’s pride. 

He doubts Mother wrote Father describing the way Draco had suddenly exploded in their small sitting room as she made wedding plans without a thought to his wants. Antique vase on the mantle shattering as the result of his unchecked anger. Yelling that he would _never_ marry and pass on the Malfoy name. That he had _no_ interest in women and would _not_ pretend otherwise to save whatever pride his parents had left. That he hated being a Malfoy. That he hated himself. Pausing his tirade only when his outburst made mother break down and sob.

Father’s note was terse in reply. _Know your place. You are a Malfoy._

How many times had Draco heard that refrain? How many times had he believed it to mean he was better than everyone else? At nineteen, the only place he wanted to be was the bloody hell away from there. The person he wanted to be was not himself. It would take a few years and Mother’s gentle cajoling before he wrote Father back. Becoming a tradition once every year at Yule time. Brief missives that contained the barest facts of his life. So simple not even the guards at Azkaban bothered censoring them. He never got anything in return of course, nor did he expect any. He had defied his father’s attempts to control him. Mother did not mention anything further.

It is out of courtesy that he visits Azkaban today. Warm cloak wrapped around him and a harsh wind whipping through his hair as the boat ferries him to the island with other visitors and personnel. The prison is cheerier than he remembers it. The dementors are gone now. The oppressive sense of dread is there but not to the same degree. Azkaban’s walls were built to suppress magic. The large, slab cut stone indistinguishable between the floor and walls. 

The small, high-ceiling room he waits in contains a bare metal table and two chairs. One configured for chains to hold a prisoner. It takes almost an hour for his father to be brought in and secured to his seat. Draco had begun to wonder if he would even come. Father could theoretically refuse personal visits.

Lucius looks ghastly. Draco was prepared for that oddly enough. Fine, platinum silver hair long and unkempt. His pale ghost-like frame sharp and thin. Dark bags under his eyes which appear tired and a bit hazy. It is his father though. Draco frowns. Taking it all in.

“Your mother told me you were in France.” Father states after a while, studying him.

“I was.” Draco allows, conscious of the guards listening in as he chooses his words. “I relocated to Britain for work.”

“Work?” Father repeats in a drawl, mouth sneering. “How common.”

“Yes. Work.” Draco restates. Forcing himself into a neutral expression and tone. “I am employed as a researcher. I develop potions.”

Father hums sounding disinterested. Tapping his fingers in a pattern on the table and glancing about the unadorned room. “Why did you come here really, Draco? After all these years? I was under the impression that you wanted _nothing_ from me.”

“I thought it considerate.”

Lucius squints at him. “You have a question.” Father remarks with surety, reminding Draco uncomfortably of his own approach in a recent conversation with James when the boy misbehaved. “Do you need advice? I’m afraid my knowledge of current events is rather limited but perhaps something else?”

“I am restoring Malfoy Manor.” Draco informs him. “I have cleared most of the land and begun reconstruction on the outer buildings. I have only one question for you, Father, what should I be aware of when I pry into the manor itself? Anything I ought to be forewarned about?”

Lucius stares, saying nothing for a long moment. “I am certain the curse breakers did admirable work weaseling out anything _unpleasant._ ”

“That is not what I asked.” Draco reproves evenly. Feeling his temper rise and refusing to acknowledge it.

“But it _is_ what I have answered. You know how my mind works, _son._ ”

“Which is precisely why I came here, Father. I thought you would want me to restore the manor. Am I wrong?”

Lucius grimaces, expression souring. “Only a Malfoy heir can take control of the estate. The main structure will accept no one else. It was designed that way centuries ago even if it is in ruins the core will remain.”

“Thank you.” Draco says, rising to his feet. He had assumed some level of blood related magic was involved, but at least father did not hint further at something monstrous lurking underneath. Draco was fairly certain his father did not want to see him hurt.

“You may not be accepted, Draco.” Father warns suddenly serious.

“Am I not a Malfoy heir?”

“ _That_ is the question you should be asking.” Lucius replies vehemently, face distorted. “The manor rejected _me_ at the end. It has been corrupted.”

“It has been sealed for over a decade. The Purgo charm they placed would have cleansed anything actively pestiferous -

_“DO NOT BE A FOOL!”_

There is a poignant silence. Draco silently counts his breathing to keep himself steady where he stands. Watching his father’s white-knuckled fists shake on the surface of the table. Chains still clattering and echoing around the room. 

“Magic changes, Draco. It is never static.” His father whispers. Staring ahead at the blank wall, eyes unseeing. Draco pities him.

He leaves. He will get no more here. 

There are more questions than answers swirling in his mind. Does he want to continue working on the manor? Should he even care if the place will accept him? 

When he arrives at Grimmauld Place that evening the children are already in bed for the night. Draco is not certain he could have withstood their inquisitive nature and demands for attention now at any rate. Kreacher bows him in and escorts him to Potter’s study, announcing his entrance and excusing himself to get them tea. A very old-fashioned elf.

Potter wipes at his glasses with a cloth from his place behind his desk, smiling congenially at Draco. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

“I went to see my father.”

The expression on his boyfriend’s face transforms into concern, brow furrowing. Draco takes a seat in the overstuffed brown chair with one of Lily’s stuffies on it. He picks up the toy, examining it absently. All purple fur and elongated tusks. Draco supposed it was meant to be a cartoonish tebo. He squeezes it making its eyes bulge out.

“It went badly then, I take it?” Potter surmises.

Draco lets his head fall back, releasing the poor tebo from his grip and making a pfft sound. “He agreed to meet with me.”

“What did he have to say?”

“He warned me about hostile, ancient magic attached to the manor’s core and mocked me for working.” Draco replies, reviewing the interaction in his head. “All in all, it could have been worse.”

Potter leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Do you want me to ask Bill Weasley about this?”

“About Father mocking me? I don’t know, Potter. I rather thought Arthur Weasley was more supportive of his children.”

“Ha.” Potter returns sarcastically, corner of his mouth lifting. Expression thoughtful. “He would help, you know. Bill forgave you ages ago.”

Draco sighs. He has hurt so many people. How can he possibly risk more? “No, thank you. I’d rather not involve any more ministry employees.”

“Well, besides me, right?” Potter cracks.

“If you want.” He responds. Potter was his boyfriend after all, and he may come in handy. The man had proved that, had he not? “Do you think I am doing the right thing, Potter? Trying to restore it – the manor?” He asks. Unsure of the answer he wants.

There is a pause. The man sighs. “I don’t know if _restore_ is the word to use.”

“What do you mean?”

“You aren’t your father. You’re not like any of those other Malfoys.” Potter states, looking contemplative. “You changed. Whatever you do with the manor will be good because you’re good.”

Draco feels oddly touched. He had not thought of it in those terms. Simplistic as they were. But Potter had a knack for reframing all his worries. Stupid, wonderful man. Perhaps his boyfriend was right. Perhaps some good could come out of his reconstruction of the manor. “Thank you, Harry.” He replies quietly. 

Potter grins lighting up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so looked forward to writing Draco's POV.


	5. Ginny

The kids have been with Ginny all week. It's been great to have more free time to be with Draco. He misses his kids, but he does not dislike the time for himself. A sort of routine has developed between him and Draco during this time. It is easier to meet up with Draco at his flat after work. They have spent more time alone in one of their homes like this than ever before. Harry loves the intimacy and casualness of it. Learning more about this man in his unguarded moments. Harry has a few pairs of work clothes at the flat now since he has been sleeping over. Draco’s house elf, Olta, has been kind enough to launder them. Storing them in the closet space and drawer Draco cleared for him. A similar one was created recently at Grimmauld for Draco.

It is Friday evening when Harry finally leaves the ministry. His meeting with Robards ran long so he walks quickly to the department floor’s floo before one of the younger aurors stops him with a question that can absolutely wait until Monday morning. He steps through Draco’s floo a second later, wiping off the soot from his shoulders. 

He finds his boyfriend in the office going over parchment filled with numbers and ancient runes. Concentrating. He loves seeing Draco casual like this. The flat was the only place he ever saw Draco out of a blazer or long-sleeved shirt – except Harry’s own bedroom. Draco tended to be dressed sharply for work otherwise and he _always_ hid the remains of the dark mark on his forearm. Now Draco has on a plain, light blue cotton tee and dark jogger sweatpants. A bare foot tapping absently on the hardwood floor. Drops of ink on the side of his boyfriend’s hand from where he was making notes in the margins. 

Harry knocks on the side of wooden bookcase to announce his entrance. His boyfriend startles slightly but smiles once he sees him. Grey eyes pleased. Harry walks over to kiss him.

“You’re here.” Draco teases in greeting.

“I am.” Harry confirms, going over to the free chair to sit. Taking off his boots and uniform cloak.

“Make yourself at home then, Potter.” Draco comments drolly, rolling up the parchment with a tap of his wand and directing them to arrange themselves in an orderly fashion on the available table beside his desk.

“I will.” Harry retorts, leaning back. He was a bit stiff today. Work had involved one too many rough landings. He had cushioned one jump with a charm, but his bad leg would be sore tomorrow. Could feel it from the small twitches of muscle in his thigh. “Do you still want to try cooking tonight?”

Draco perks up at that. “Olta bought everything on the list you made.”

Harry likes cooking. Enjoys making food for his family and friends. It was a stressful chore as a child, but he found immense enjoyment in it as an adult. It helped that now he could make what he wants and use actual spices and seasoning. There were a couple dishes he made from his childhood, but they were few and far between.

They are making something simple tonight: lemon chicken. Hopefully, it will be simple enough. Draco has made some of the most complicated, time-sensitive potions in the world but never cooked for himself. It bewilders Harry. Cooking was easy compared to potion making and many of the skills are transferable. It seems simple to him.

Draco’s kitchen is small but there is decent counter space for them to both work on their separate tasks. He starts Draco trimming the vegetables at the island as he preheats the oven and prepares the chicken.

“Did you really never cook?” He asks idly, preparing the lemon and thyme.

Draco shakes his head. “No. There was never a need to as a child. Purebloods like my parents didn't believe that was a skill worth learning. After I moved away, my flat mates always brought home food from their shifts or I bought to-go. Anything quick was easiest. I mostly worked, studied, or slept in those days. Besides, the cafes near us sold some of the best food I ever had – much better than anything I could have attempted.” 

“It’s hard to believe your mother never made you anything. She was always sending you sweets when we were boys.” Harry remarks. The eagle owl the Malfoys had always meant chocolates when it swooped into the Great Hall.

“Sweets that our house elf Tarrow made.” Draco shares. “She's still with Mother. Tarrow probably cooked every meal for me until I was eleven. I was absolutely not prepared to take care of myself without a house elf. I'd never done laundry or even made my bed. It was ridiculous. One of our flat mates, Simone, was ready to murder me a time or two. I was thankful when Astoria hired her house elf a couple years into living in Paris.”

“When did you hire Olta?”

“After I finished school and was earning more. She’s been with me for the last three years or so. I am lucky she chose to come here with me.”

Harry liked her too. Olta was off today, but when she was here with them, she enjoyed watching Harry work in the kitchen. Thought it funny. The house elf had confided in him she had never seen a wizard cook – let alone want to do it. He seasons the chicken and sets the cast iron skillet on the stove to heat before he sears it.

“I once did try to use a – what is it?” Draco begins, casting around frowning like he might find what he is thinking of in the kitchen. Harry raises his brow at him, waiting for another clue. Maybe it was something in the kitchen? Draco had limited knowledge of the objects in there beyond the dinnerware. “It uses the electricity and the blades crush the ice.” His boyfriend adds.

“You can just say electricity.” Harry suggests, considering. “And I think you mean a blender.”

“Yes, of course.” Draco says with a bemused look. “I should remember that. Muggles name things so practically.”

“Sometimes.” Harry acknowledges. “How did using the blender go?”

“Not great.” Draco admits, ears going pink and shifting where he is standing by the counter. “I ended up cutting myself. I used magic after that to crush what I needed. Thank goodness most of our muggle clientele never noticed – or was too distracted to care. I would've been a terrible bartender otherwise.”

“Probably a good thing you moved on from blenders then.” He sets the chicken on the skillet and it immediately starts to sizzle. Draco is making steady progress. Precisely cutting each green bean and potato. Each the exact replica of its kin. Harry comes over and hastily preps from the remaining pile of veg waiting in the bowl beside him. They had to be ready in time for the chicken to go in the oven.

“You are being sloppy.” Draco informs him dryly. Carefully cutting.

“No, I’m not.” He defends. His veg is chopped satisfactorily thank you very much. “They’re fine. They’ll all taste the same.”

Draco hums. Harry takes it for the ringing indictment that it is. “It’s my recipe, Draco. It'll be fine.”

“Okay.” Draco drawls, tone disbelieving.

Harry goes over to the stove and turns the meat over, returning with the cast-iron skillet to place on the island. “Put them all in.” He instructs, dropping his in to cover the side closest to him and the chicken.

“Keep yours over on that side.” Draco demands, pushing his own sliced vegetables neatly off the cutting board. They land in an orderly fashion on the other side of the chicken.

Harry snorts, but allows the separation. Draco reaches out to move a potato back that falls over to his side, but Harry grabs his boyfriend’s hand. “That’s hot be careful.”

“I would not have to be if you put them in like I wanted.” Draco answers, but withdraws.

“So bossy tonight.” Harry quips with a wink. Turning to put their meal in the oven and setting the timer.

“Kitchen flirt.” Draco accuses bantering back. Harry laughs, ducking in to kiss him. The sun is setting and the overhead lights in the kitchen cast them in a homey glow. He knows this is part of infatuation – this clinginess. But it is fun being here, and it feels right. Harry has not felt anything close to this way in ages and it is addicting. Draco is solid and here for him. 

“It's our last night.” Draco reminds quietly when they break apart, arms twinned behind Harry’s neck. Harry’s hands still resting at his boyfriend’s sides. Content. “The children return tomorrow.”

“They do. Hopefully, all in one piece.” Harry remarks. Thinking of the beginning of the week. His three sprogs all set with their little backpacks for a week-long stay with their mum. He hugged and kissed them all goodbye as Ginny waited to take them into the cottage. Directing them sternly to behave and listen to Mummy. “Have you given any more thought about what I asked you the other day?” He prompts his boyfriend.

“I have.” Draco answers, expression suddenly serious and causing Harry concern. “And I don’t want to attempt the Sinnsear charm. I have been studying the possible repercussions and I fear the manor's foundation would be completely decimated or I would be trapped inside.”

“No – not that.” Harry responds, momentarily distracted. He had suggested the charm to Draco for the manor restoration. So far, every time Draco had tried to clear rubble or enter the skeletal remains of the west wing he had been prevented. Harry tried to help once and was thrown back several yards. His hands scalded. Draco insisted on being the only one to attempt magical intervention on the main building after that incident.

Bill Weasley advised the charm might help take control of the place. He told Harry he had seen it work wonders on wizarding homes where the family was feuding over ownership and they had cursed the other out of the property. But the manor was much larger and older than in those cases. Also, Draco did not want Bill involved. Harry was trying to honor that but figured it didn't hurt to ask Bill and forget to mention his source of information.

“I wanted to talk more about you meeting my kids.” He clarifies. It was time. He had been content to wait and see where their relationship was going, but now he knew. For him, this was the final piece he had yet to share with Draco.

Draco sighs, tightening his hold on Harry. Holding his gaze. “I want to meet the children. I know so much about them already, and _you_ want me to.” He trails off, looking to the side with a frown.

“But?” Harry prods. Re-establishing their eye contact.

“Their mother may not be thrilled.” Draco continues. Expression anxious. It surprises Harry. Of all the things he anticipated Draco being worried about, it was not whether Ginny would approve. “I don't want my presence to cause conflict between you two. I know how important she is to you.”

“You’re important to me.”

“It’s not the same.” Draco points out. Shaking his head minutely. “She’s their mother and she has more reason than most to despise me.”

“And I’m their father, and I want you around them.” Harry argues. He has primary custody. Legally, he could make this decision without Ginny’s input. But that pulls him to a stop. Would he really do that? What would he do if Ginny didn't want him to have the children around Draco? What would Ginny do if he pressed the issue?

He feels Draco’s fingers tugging lightly at the hair at the base of his head. Harry watches as a small smile tugs at Draco’s mouth. It is a little forlorn but endearing.

“You see, Harry?” Draco murmurs as if he just read Harry’s thoughts on the matter. “How could I put you and the children through that? What right do I have?”

“Let me ask her then.” Harry offers. “We can make a decision from there.”

Draco nods and Harry leans in to kiss him. It is so easy like this. He knows in his heart how well Draco fits. But he can also understand Draco’s hesitation. Harry is nervous too. He so desperately wants his children and Draco to get along.

Dinner is warm in their bellies and the second glass of ale he had serves to make him even sleepier. Harry brushes his teeth and washes his face perfunctorily as he prepares for bed. Tossing his clothes from today into the laundry hamper in the loo. Harry’s only in his pants. He rarely sleeps with more than underwear. He has pajamas and a robe. But he usually only wears those when he first gets out of bed or on a lazy day. 

Draco’s bedroom is as neat as he is. Harry’s bedroom is not a mess, but everything in Draco’s is set so precisely. He is certain if he moved the lamp an inch to the side his boyfriend would notice. Draco folded down their blankets and is drawing the curtains shut with a flick of his wand when Harry goes to lay down. Taking a deep breath of the lightly scented rose and sandalwood. Draco’s apartment always smelled wonderful.

“Let me see your leg.”

Harry groans. He thought he got away with it. Tried all night to stay loose in his stride, but Draco _always_ noticed. His boyfriend has a bottle of something in his hands when he sits beside Harry on the bed with his professional face on.

“What’s that?” Harry questions, leaning against the pillows Draco has stacked against the headboard. “Is it lube?” He asks waggling his eyebrows in his best come hither impression.

“You wish.” Draco retorts with a fond roll of his eyes. “It is a body oil though.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.” He says but stretches his legs out between them, folding his arms behind his head to get more comfortable. Draco rubs his hands together, before moving to the end of the bed to begin massaging his foot.

“Didn’t know you were a masseuse.” He comments wryly. Enjoying the way strands of Draco’s white-blond hair fall onto his forehead.

“I’m not.” Draco responds, digging his thumbs into the arch of Harry’s foot causing him to moan. He is certain Draco is trying to kill him it feels so good. “I thought you had physios at your department to help all you aurors stay in shape?”

“We do.” Harry admits in a mutter. He would rather not think about work right now. He did his best to keep work and personal life balanced and separate – for his own peace of mind.

“Then why don’t you use them?” Draco reproaches.

“None of them are as pretty as you.” Harry deflects. It is true after all and the way Draco’s cheeks and ears flush in embarrassment makes it worth saying.

“Flatterer.”

Draco works his way up Harry’s leg. Pressing soothing circles methodically into the knots of muscle he has around the scars on his knee and thigh. Harry finds himself sinking deeper into the mattress, breathing deeply. There is a low level of arousal that is keeping him awake as Draco gets closer to his groin. Otherwise he could probably fall asleep like he is. 

“Want you.” He tells Draco dazedly, voice low. His boyfriend’s hands are at his hip, heel of his palm pressing in and making Harry grunt.

“I can tell.” Draco replies mildly. He feels where Draco’s hand ghosts over his erection and groans. This is not fair. Harry opens his eyes and watches Draco set the bottle of oil to the side and summon a hand towel. 

“C’mere.” Harry calls, spread out and relaxed. He reaches for Draco’s shoulder, running a hand down his arm.

“You’re tired.” Draco says, wiping the oil off Harry’s leg.

“Then put me to sleep.”

“That is not as romantic sounding as you think it is.” Draco counters. His smile indicates he isn’t put off though. Harry pulls at Draco’s arm some more and is pleased when his appeal works. The man sits back to take off his shirt and joggers. Displaying more fair skin that glows in the partially lit room. Tall body strong and compact. Harry lifts his own hips where he is reclined and shoves down his pants. Kicking them off the rest of the way with his feet. The way he is propped makes it effortless for Draco to slide in between his legs.

It is similar to their earlier embrace in the kitchen. Harry’s hands on Draco’s hips guiding them together and Draco winding his arms behind Harry’s head. Looking at Draco is a lot to take in. He is beautiful. His whole torso is flushed now along with his face, and Harry sincerely hopes it is not from embarrassment. Draco looks like a man who knows what he wants. And Harry is happy to comply.

The kiss is electric. He can feel it down to the base of his spine, instinctually moving his hands to Draco’s arse to pull him in so their groins connect. They are both hard and Harry breaks away to laugh when their hands get in the way of each other. They manage a little more coordination when Harry tries again, gripping them both firmly. Draco pants into his open mouth when they both look down at themselves. 

“God, bloody hell, Draco.” Harry grunts, jacking them both and watching Draco fuck the hand trying to hold them. Harry bites his lip. Attention only on the sensation of Draco sliding against him. The feel of Draco moving above him is delicious, muscles working up friction with his own movement to meet him. 

“C’mon, sweetheart.” Harry groans out, releasing Draco’s arse cheek with his other hand and tangling it in the man’s pale locks. Bringing their mouths together.

“Harry.” Draco whines sounding desperate. Mouth opening obediently to let Harry in like he wants, laving at him in return. Sweat and oil making their efforts smoother. 

Draco is the one to separate after several agonizing minutes of this, spit connecting their mouths. Bending to bite Harry’s clavicle which is one hundred percent okay by him. It thrilled him when Draco got bitey. Harry just wants to come. He can feel it close in by the way his peripheral vision is blinking in and out. Draco chanting his name pushing him along.

It is a firework when he does come. Spilling over on to Draco. Cum splattering over the man’s torso. His body still moving in response to Draco. It is exhilarating. The lamp beside him is flickering. He realizes off-hand. He did that sometimes. Accidental magic. Draco spasms and follows, adding to the mess. 

“Fuck, we’re good at that.” Harry groans, feeling aftershocks from his spent cock to the rest of his body. Nervous system lighting up like a thousand streaks of lightning. Draco is trembling where he is holding himself up from collapsing on him. Harry does what he can to guide his boyfriend to the side, petting at his face and shoulder where Draco loosens up enough to lie comfortably. Catching his breath.

“Harry.” Draco repeats, sounding fond. Eyes lidded. Harry gives him a cheeky look and is rewarded by Draco’s own rare grin. Totally ornery and sated. Harry waves his hand casting a wandless cleaning spell over them and tangles his fingers with Draco’s own. His boyfriend reaches for the blanket, cocooning them both where they lay side by side.

Harry is asleep before Draco turns the light out.

-

The day he married Ginny the sunflowers that lined the path leading to the church were as bright and cheery yellow as the sky was light blue. It was a perfect day. She was gorgeous in a simple loose, beaded ivory dress. Red hair braided back leaving ringlets of her hair to delicately frame her face. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he was getting to marry her. He doesn't remember much of that day besides that walk up to the church with their family and friends parading with them. What he does remember is the feeling he had never been happier. He was going to have a family. A real proper one.

The day he divorced Ginny was another sunny day several years later. They signed the papers with their solicitors present. Copies of their divorce prepared for them both for their records. It was all very civil. The paparazzi was banned from the floor they were on, but they still had to wade through flash bulbs going off at them on the way into the registry department. He remembers gritting his teeth through it all. Willing his expression distant and unengaging. 

Everyone knew. At least, it felt like the entirety of the British wizarding world did. The announcement that they filed jointly for divorce had been splashed all over the news for months. Speculation abounded about the reason why. He overheard every other day about the various affairs he and Ginny were supposedly having. People approached him on the street about it. Even when he went on walks with his kids. Lily in the pram and the boys at his side. Their expressions confused and upset. Harry had had to file an injunction on the paparazzi then.

It was little more than a perfunctory business transaction by the time the papers were actually signed. They had been living apart for nearly a year. Lily was a toddler by then. The boys were already in nursery school. He's not sure the boys even noticed much of a change for a long while. Ginny was gone most of the time anyway. It felt like he did most of his co-parenting with Molly if he was honest. Sometimes it still did.

He got primary custody of the children. It was practical although the press had a field day about it. Ginny kept the cottage. He gave her half of his money even when they had a row about it. Ginny insisted on paying child support. They had a row about that. Ginny began to date one of the physio trainers on the team. He was okay with that actually. Harry started going to muggle clubs and gay bars. Exploring more of who he was. 

It was a good divorce. 

They went to a muggle pub after signing to celebrate the end of their marriage. It was nice to be friends. Better than before the separation when everything was strained and awful. He wants to always be friends with Gin. She's the mother of his children.

They fucked in the women’s bathroom stall after a few drinks. Him frustrated and lonely and Ginny horny and bored. No one was around. No one even came in. It was a little after three on a Wednesday. Their divorce started off with a bang Ginny liked to privately joke.

The last time they hook up is during the Christmas hols a couple of years later. Ginny tucked the kids into bed and promised to come over early to watch them open pressies then slipped into Harry’s bedroom. It was an easy thing to do. Something they did on and off. No strings. No expectations. They were always good at that part of their relationship. It was reliable. Comforting at times. They both talked about seeing other people. Ginny had been through three fairly serious boyfriends by that point. She was still seeing one on and off. Harry admitted sheepishly to casually sleeping around. Told her in the quiet of his bedroom that he never wanted a relationship again. At least, not until the kids were in Hogwarts.

That was all before Draco Malfoy. The man that made Harry want to re-structure his entire life to include a partner.

Ginny always had the kids during the window of time where the national league championship ended and before the international one began. When she brings their exhausted children back to Grimmauld late on Saturday, he is working up the courage to have a serious conversation with her.

Lily is like a limp sack of flour when Ginny hands her over to him. Al is essentially sleep walking, attached to his mother’s side. Jamie looks up at him blearily, smile wide. There is something sticky in his hair, matting half of it down. But they're happy. The boys in particular were always desperate to spend time with their mum. Harry knew that would not always be the case. Molly never let him or Ginny forget it. The time they spent with Ginny having fun meant the world to them. Harry wanted them to have that with all his heart.

He puts Lily to bed. Changing her quickly into her pajamas and taking her to use the toilet, before covering her with her special blanket and charming her nightlight to faintly glow. He dips his head into the next room to see Al already muttering incoherently to himself and quite asleep. His younger son slept like his Uncle Ron. Harry hangs back in the hallway then, watching from a distance as Ginny says goodnight to Jamie.

“Will you be here in the morning?” Jamie asks sounding small.

“Remember I have to leave with the team early tomorrow.” Ginny reminds gently. Harry doubts Jamie forgot. His son knew Gin’s quidditch schedule better than Harry did.

“Can I come?” Jamie pleads. “I don’t have school. I’ll be good.”

“Maybe next year, my baby.”

“Not a baby.” Jamie argues tiredly. Harry could probably count down from ten right now to when Jamie would conk out. He had been easy to put down as an infant.

Harry watches Ginny wish Jamie sweet dreams. She is wearing dark, fitted jeans and a pale-yellow tank. Long red hair falling forward from her loose bun when she kisses their son on his forehead. She will look lovely in whatever pictures of her and the children that he sees in the papers next week. Ginny was less concerned about media than he was although she generally went along with Harry’s preference to shield their children. He could sort of understand her blasé attitude, it was her job to court the media at times as a coach.

He feels decidedly underdressed in comparison with his bare feet, plaid pajama pants and worn tee. It is late, nearly midnight. He half expected her to drop them at his door at the crack of dawn tomorrow. It would not be the first time. Ginny’s crooked grin is welcome though after she gently shuts Jamie’s bedroom door.

“We need to talk.” He announces.

“You know I don’t like it when you say that to me.” Ginny teasingly scolds, wagging her finger at him. “I don’t invite you to _my_ house and tell you we need to talk.”

Harry considers this for a moment. “True. I owe you one.”

They end up in the kitchen. Harry pours them each a drink as Ginny sits cross-legged on the bench by the kitchen table. 

“What’s up, Harry?” She asks.

“I started dating Draco Malfoy.” He tells her straight out. Handing her the glass of wine he poured for her.

“Is that all?” Ginny laughs, slapping her knee. She takes a takes a sip of her wine. Harry waits, sitting down at the table with his own glass. “So, what did you really want to talk about?”

“Ginny, I’m dating Draco Malfoy.”

“No, you’re not.” She bandies back. Humor a little less sure this time, more defensive.

Telling Ron and Hermione about Draco at the gala by showing them had not gone well. He had done that step by step with the hope it would make it easier on them. Revealing his bisexuality first and that he was dating someone. Then that it was Draco he's seeing. It didn't seem to help. He just wants to lay it all out now. Done with easing people in.

He stares at his ex-wife, willing her to hear his words and accept them. This athletic, intelligent, beautiful woman who used to be the center of his universe.

Ginny blinks at him, expression falling. “I guess we do need to talk.”

Neither of them say anything though, not for a few minutes. Harry works steadily on finishing his drink and Ginny twirling her own glass by the stem. Considering it. Not looking at each other. It was not uncomfortable. They were good at being silent together. Too good at it.

“How serious is it?” She asks after a while, breaking the quiet.

“Very. It’s – we’ve been together a few months now.”

Ginny’s brow furrows, mouth frowning. “You love him?”

Harry rubs a hand over his face. “It’s starting to be like that, yeah.” He tells Draco all the time how much he likes him. Tries to whenever he is feeling happier just from Draco being there. At the beginning, right before he confessed his attraction, he had wondered if they would end up in love. Now he does not wonder.

Ginny takes a deep breath then nods once decisively; expression sure. “Then you need to see it through.”

“Really?” He checks, shocked by her reaction. He expected it would be more like Ron’s response. Was preparing himself for that argument.

“Yes.” Ginny reasserts, looking at him fiercely. “You deserve to be happy, Harry. I may not understand it entirely, but if anyone deserves happiness it’s you.”

“Deserve is kinda tricky, Gin.” Harry responds suddenly feeling a bit guilty.

“It shouldn’t be – not about this.”

Harry sighs heavily. A lot of people deserved to be happy and it got taken away. He knew life was more chaotic than that – more unfair. His childhood taught him that lesson early on. It's why he valued people striving to do good in the world. Questioning themselves if they are making the right choice. Choosing to be kind.

“This does make a weird kind of sense though – you and Malfoy.” Ginny adds eyeing him slyly.

“How do you mean?”

“You two _were_ always obsessed each other.”

Harry snorts. “We weren’t obsessed.” More like could not stand one another. They were total opposites in every way and set on a track to clash.

“Please.” Ginny draws the word out, giving him a hard look. “I know you. The year we got together you were stalking him all around Hogwarts. You spent more time following him around than me.”

“That was a very different circumstance.” He defends. A situation he was right about too he might add, but now was not the time to point that out.

“Was it?” Ginny prods, smirk growing on her face.

“Yes!” Harry argues. “I had _no clue_ I liked men then.”

“And that’s another thing –

“I regret so much bringing this up tonight.” He groans, smacking himself on the forehead.

“No, you don’t.” She challenges, reaching over to pat his cheek. Reminding him instantly of their daughter. “Tell me when you realized you were attracted to men, my dear ex-husband.”

Harry sags in on himself causing Ginny to laugh. He has to think. There had been fleeting feelings and thoughts that were unconscious for years. So many he wrote off, not knowing enough to pay attention to it especially when the attraction to women was so very present. He suspects the war also played a significant part in delaying the realization.

“Do you remember when we went to visit Luna? After Jamie was born?”

“Yeah?”

Luna was a member of a commune for some time in America after finishing her studies to become a magizoologist. She had been there for a few months when she invited them to visit. They had not known it was also a nudist colony. Harry felt guilty no matter where he looked for the first few days. Always feeling like he was staring inappropriately. Everyone was very touchy-feely. Seeing men being openly affectionate with each other. Romantic.

He had been around gay men occasionally throughout his life, but never exposed to their relationships and lifestyle in such an open manner. Charlie hadn't even brought home a boyfriend at that point. Harry remembers lying wide-awake one of the nights they were there. Jamie swaddled and fast asleep in a dresser drawer they transfigured into a bassinet and them on a futon bed. Staring at the ceiling and feeling very confused. Unsure about saying anything to his wife. Bisexuality wasn't even a word in his vocabulary then.

The internet taught him that one.

“That was when. All those couples – those men. I . . . I didn’t know it could be like that. I think seeing it changed everything for me. It was abstract before and I just didn’t know.”

“I wish you had told me.” Ginny says quietly after a long moment. “When you realized.”

“I wish I had too.” Harry admits. “I didn’t know how. I was afraid of what it meant – that I would lose you. I didn’t know I could even like both or that there were so many ways to be attracted to people. No one ever – I just didn’t know.”

“So . . . for you – bisexual?”

“Yes.” He affirms. It pleases him now to understand that part of himself. Questioning and being confused was hard and he was so alone in it. “I am.” 

They smile at each other. It is one of understanding. Harry is enormously grateful for it. 

“Thanks, Gin.”

It is natural to reach out and take her hand. A solid support. The most important thing they have preserved in their relationship. He clears his throat. Ginny seems a little teary-eyed too. Wiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist.

“I want to start bringing Draco around the kids.” He tells her. “That’s why I’m bringing this all up now.”

“You don’t need my permission.” She responds, frowning again. He has primary custody because that is what they chose as co-parents for a few reasons. It does not mean he wants to exclude her in choices that impact their children.

Harry leans forward, clutching her hand. “But I’d like your blessing anyway.”

“I can’t say I’m not hesitant, Harry. There’s so much –” She cuts off, biting her lower lip. Pausing for a moment. “So much painful history. _But_ I also trust you. I swore to myself to support you if you ever dated again.”

“You can say no.” 

“You don’t want me to.”

“No, I don’t.”

Ginny sighs, expression contemplative. “Do Ron and Hermione know?”

“Yes.” He answers. That night at the gala and Ron’s cold fury was fresh in his memory. “Ron didn’t take it well.”

She nods again as if expecting that response. “He’ll come ‘round. Give him time. Ron always needs space to think things through. Are you going to make a statement?”

“I don’t know.” Harry replies, scratching at the back of his neck. His PR person would probably thank him if he did, but public statements invited public interest in his personal life. He and Draco were lucky to be flying under the radar as it was. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should prepare something. It’ll control the circus a little bit. But you know everyone is going to go mad over it for a while. They calmed down eventually after I started dating again, but I’m not _the chosen one._ ”

“I’ll let you know if we decide to release a statement. I don’t want to blindside you.”

“Thanks.” 

They are quiet for a moment when Ginny suddenly breaks into giggles.

“What is it?” Harry asks.

Ginny grins and shakes her head. “We’re not going to be ex’s with benefits anymore.”

“Oh.” Harry voices, smiling at her awkwardly and hunching his shoulders slightly. Feeling a bit embarrassed. They had been lovers for over ten years. “No. We’re not. Should I apologize?”

“Of course not.” Ginny rebuffs with a wave. Then sighing dramatically. “When we were good, we were great, Harry.” She tells him with a wink.

“We were indeed.” Harry agrees. Tipping his empty glass to her in cheers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a filler chapter. I did not intend on it originally. It sort of popped up on its own. But I'm glad it did because Ginny showed up. So I figured name the chapter after her, right? None of this is beta read. I own nothing - only plots.


	6. The Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco meets and interacts with the Potter children.

_NEW WOMAN IN SAVIOR’S LIFE?_

_Deputy Head Auror Harry Potter was spotted with socialite Astoria Greengrass at the recent charity gala for the Mercury Medical Clinic & Research Center. As our readers know, Potter is a rare presence on the social scene of wizarding Britain in recent years since his divorce from Holyhead Harpies coach Ginevra Weasley. The only single woman he has consistently been photographed with is close Potter family friend Luna Lovegood. Greengrass, who is rumored to be seeing . . . ._

“I am sorry for that, darling, but the photo is flattering, don’t you think?” Astoria notes airily.

Draco sighs, throwing this morning’s edition of the Prophet on his coffee table. It had not been his day – yesterday. It is foolish to be upset really. He is not angry with Astoria of course. He does not even care about the photo of her and Harry. Arm and arm, each dressed immaculately for the charity gala. They _do_ look like a couple. No. It is Potter Draco is upset about – it is always Potter.

He _told_ Potter that telling his friends about their relationship would go poorly. But Potter had wanted to and Draco supposed it was his boyfriend's choice. It has become too easy to be pulled into Potter’s current and go along with these overly optimistic blunders in judgement. Potter had just been so hopeful, so certain that his friends would hear them out. In fairness, Potter was half right. Granger had, at least, been civil. Weasley though -

“Draco?”

“Hmm?” He responds to his best friend distractedly. Astoria sits on the arm of the chair he is currently occupying and hands him a steaming cup of tea which he takes gratefully.

“What's bothering you?” Astoria asks gently. Hazel eyes kind.

He leans his head back, looking up at her. Astoria was still dressed in her fluffy robe and slippers, hair wrapped up in a towel from her shower. She was decidedly not a morning person. The fact she was up at all was a testament to their friendship. It is why they had worked well as flatmates for so long.

“I’m not mad, right? I can trust him? He likes me?” Draco worries aloud as he fidgets with the handle of his cup. He hates this. Hates that he is questioning his own judgement all the time. Hates how Harry makes him feel. How he keeps going back for the glowing, warm feeling. How much he loves it.

Astoria gives him a sad smile and pats his hand. “He is absolutely gone on you, darling. You should have seen the way he looked at you. It was like a drowning man being given gillyweed the moment he laid eyes on you last night.”

Draco barks out a laugh at the idea. How absurd. “Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around?” He retorts.

Astoria cocks her head at him, expression long suffering. “I believe you two are a matched set.” She states in her no-nonsense tone. “Everyone who matters will realize it in due time.”

“I wish I had your optimism – or any optimism.” He replies. It is an intoxicating madness. Whatever this is. He never experienced anything like it. Swinging from sureness to uncertainty in the span of minutes. Back and forth. It made him dizzy. 

It made him want.

“You would not keep trying if you didn’t have hope, Draco.” Astoria adds, moving to stand. “Besides, you haven’t even met the children yet. I suspect _they_ are the ones you need to win over.”

-

Draco meets the children for the first time at a muggle restaurant. Potter takes his hand under the table when he sits. Steadying him. The man knows how unsure Draco is about meeting them. If it had been up to Draco, he would likely have never meet them. Despite how important they are to his boyfriend – or maybe because of that.

“You’re here.” Potter greets him, expression friendly but a shade hesitant. Draco finds himself intrigued. It has been ages since he has seen Potter look nervous. Not since they were boys. It almost makes him feel better.

“Of course.”

The boys look like Potter. Draco knew that from photos, but it is different to experience it in person. Strangely endearing. The reality of this grown man he cares so much about having two near copies of him running about. Both boys have same yellow-brown ochre skin and messes of thick, black hair. The younger son comes over first – Albus. Rectangle-framed glasses and bright green eyes. He is adorably chubby. Draco suspects Astoria would love to pinch his cheeks.

It is not challenging to get into conversation with Albus. Who is clearly a very precocious boy that has never met a stranger in his life. Draco wonders how that could happen with the way Potter keeps them away from the press. Lily the youngest is shy at first, eyeing him uncertainly from her spot beside her father. She is slightly lighter in skin tone than her brothers and her hair is the vibrant red that marks her as a Weasley. If only she knew how scared he was to meet her. She may have been more confident then. The older boy – James – does not open to conversation easily either. Brown eyes growing bored as the conversation continues.

This is a test. He knows it is a test. Potter will not keep him around if the children do not accept him. It is with great relief that James finally speaks to him if only to go on about quidditch and his mother. The first subject Draco can speak to with some authority. As for the boy’s mother, he is less certain. Draco tentatively calls the first meeting a success at the end of dinner. Lily even spontaneously takes his hand. Her little one a bit greasy from dinner, big brown eyes staring up at him, curious as they waited for the Potter boys to catch up with them.

He can do this Draco reassures himself later that night. Children are fine. Potter’s even seem well-behaved. He has overcome much more daunting tasks. Dark wizards come to mind.

A few things quickly become apparent. Draco is correct in his earlier assumption that he has _no_ idea what to do with children. As Potter’s invites to Grimmauld become more frequent and their relationship continues to grow serious, Draco is around the children more and more. The children seem to like him. At least, Albus and Lily do. Potter seems thrilled by this. Absolutely delighted. Draco is less sure of his progress and his place in the children’s lives as their father’s boyfriend.

He feels a bit like a plaything during those first few visits. Torn between Albus and Lily as they show him every nook and cranny of the house and engage him with their toys. Draco acknowledges these actions. Asks them questions about the objects that they indicate are important to them. It is only polite after all. The younger two are excited whenever he arrives. Catching him up on their day as they tell him in their loud, little voices at the same time. He has them take turns telling him after the few visits so he can parse out what they are saying. After a while, he is less fascinating for them. No longer the shiny new toy. They run in and out of wherever he and Harry are. Making their cacophony of noise with Potter passing down whatever judgements they need.

Potter is generally affable and engages easily with his children. Quick to meet them on their level. Play on the floor and run around with them. It is completely foreign to Draco. He has never seen a father behave in this way. His father and the fathers he knew growing up were very formal and demanding with their children. Removed although clear in their high expectations. Authoritarian in everything they did. Potter seems content to spend time with his kids and support them in their interests – banal as they are sometimes. Giving them consequences to any wrongdoing as they arise.

Draco is not certain how to be a part of that or if he even should. His boyfriend or Lily usually take him by the hand to include him. Otherwise, Draco will hang back as Potter interacts with the children. Tentative. The first time he gently enforces one of Potter’s rules – no pushing each other – the children look at him incredulously like a nest of diricawls stunned to be found by a human. There is a stagnant pause and then the boys start laughing. Cracking up like Draco told them a terrific joke. They stop abruptly when their father walks in and assesses the situation. Telling his children they need to mind Draco. Apparently, he is a responsible adult.

James remains standoffish.

There is a part of Draco that feels this is eminently reasonable. Merlin knows, _he_ would have been so much worse had one of his parents brought home a new partner. It does make him uneasy though. What if he and James never build a cordial relationship? Their relationship is not fraught with tension but there is a sense of disconnect that he does not have with the other two.

James mostly ignores him. This does not change as the weeks go by and Draco becomes a regular fixture in the children’s lives. Learning their habits. Their ups and downs. The few times James does not ignore him, the boy seems annoyed as Draco attempts to engage him in conversation. Occasionally going so far as to groan and dramatically fall to the floor while Draco inquires how school was that day or if James finished his homework. James then claiming he has been bored to death. Albus and Lily giggling from the sidelines.

When Draco asks Harry about it one night, his boyfriend only shrugs, setting his glasses down on the bedside table as he prepares for sleep.

“I really don’t know why, Draco. It’s like Lils and Jamie switched personalities when it comes to you. Lily is the one who takes forever to accept someone new – if she ever does – and Jamie’s usually more like Al. Pretty quick to make friends.” Harry says, climbing into bed.

Draco sighs, twisting his hands in the bed linens. It never mattered too much if people did not like him. Not since he became an adult. He had had to let that go after the war with so much else. It was for the better really. But this is different. It is important to him that he develop a good relationship with all his boyfriend’s children.

Harry opens his arms expectantly and Draco complies rolling into the embrace. Head coming to land on Harry’s shoulder. His boyfriend is a cuddler. He suspects it is to do with Harry’s nightmare of a childhood. The polar opposite in numerous ways to Draco’s own, but Draco certainly has no room to judge. He had no idea how touch-starved he was before Harry and his grabby hands. Draco found it was better to settle into a position while they were both awake instead of getting smacked in the face when Harry glommed on to him in the middle of the night.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart.” Harry soothes, resting his hand on Draco’s back. He ought to bristle at the term of endearment. They really did not do that, but it is comforting in this instance so he allows it.

They have taken to staying overnight with each other most nights. Draco is not entirely certain when that even began. Somewhere after Ginny Weasley gave permission for him to spend time with the children. Although, Draco sincerely doubts she meant for him to be around _this_ much. Most of the time they are at Grimmauld because it is simpler with the children’s schedule.

Draco was concerned they would get sick of the sight of each other, but that does not seem to be the case. It is rarer now for them to spend a night apart. Typically, that only happens when Harry has an overnight shift. Draco finds that those nights have become lonelier than before. That he misses spending time with the Potters at the end of the day, listening to Harry round up the children for their bedtime, and being alone with Harry in those late after hours.

“Should I be doing something different?” Draco asks quietly. He feels a bit pathetic. 

“No.” Harry reassures. “Just be yourself. He likes you fine. If he didn’t, we’d know.” Draco imagines Harry would know best. He does not press it further, and Harry waves his hand, turning off the bedroom lights. 

Draco wakes to a small foot in his face. Harry is wrapped around him and Lily is upside down on the bed, partly on top of them both. Draco has a vague memory of Lily coming in last night crying about wetting her bed. Harry had gotten up to take care of it. Telling him to stay and sleep, but Draco was already awake and figured he might as well assist. Harry helped Lily wash and change; and Draco cleaned her bed with a quick Scourgify and a freshening charm. He remembers falling back into bed, listening to Harry talk to Lily in the bathroom.

The foot is not what woke him though it is the tap-tap tapping of a beak on the window. Harry has the house warded against most owls and this owl is strange to him. He has become familiar with some of the owls that fly by – many of them Weasley owned. Draco does his best to extract himself from Harry’s hold without waking him or Lily to open the window. It is not a success. Harry groans groggily as Draco rises out of their bed.

The owl drops an official looking envelope to the floor the second he opens the window. Draco goes to take it but freezes when he sees the seal. It is from the Minister of Magic. There is movement from the bed as Harry swings his legs over the side of it and reaches out a hand summoning the envelope to him. Draco watches him open it and read, expression falling. Harry folds it shut and the letter immediately disintegrates, falling to the floor in ashes as if in a scorching fire.

“What is it? Can I ask?” Draco questions, unsure if the message is private or not. Harry shared what he could, but most of his work was confidential in nature. The fact that the message destroyed itself upon Harry’s reading indicated a higher degree of importance. He had never seen Harry get a message before like this while home.

Harry runs a hand hastily through his hair. “It’s a summons. There’s a, well – I have to go.” He gets to his feet and exits the bedroom heading for the walk-in closet. Draco follows.

“Are you okay with staying here with the kids or would you rather I send them to their grandmother’s? Molly and I have an arrangement, and I don’t know what you have planned for today.” Harry says in a rush, dressing hastily. Clothing hopping to attention for the man to put on.

“Oh. I – well – I suppose I can stay.” Draco agrees hesitantly. He has never been left solely in charge of a child or even children before, but he thinks he can handle it. He knows these children and their routine fairly well. They seem used to him at any rate.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Harry assures as he stands, zipping up his trousers, and leaning over to kiss Draco before striding out the door at a brisk pace.

That is how Draco finds himself in charge of three young children. 

The morning goes well enough. There is no school today and Draco makes his own work hours. He was probably going to spend the day at Grimmauld anyway. Granted, most of it would likely have been spent in the library or Harry’s office reviewing results of a recent study and prepping new proposals for his research while Harry managed the children. It is okay. He can adjust. 

He is absolutely adaptable.

Kreacher makes a simple breakfast of oatmeal with fruit cups. The children eat the oatmeal, ignoring the fruit completely. They also ignore his prompts to at least try some. He counts it as a win when the children each choose one fruit to eat.

“Draco, where’s Dad?” Albus asks, rubbing at his eye under his glasses. “Is he still sleeping?”

“He was called into work.” Draco explains while adding blueberries to his own breakfast.

“When will he be back?” James cuts in. Expression more wakeful now.

“I'm not sure.” Draco answers honestly. “Your father did say he would be back as soon as he could.”

They split into two groups after breakfast, the boys head up to the playroom and Lily follows him to the library. Laying on the loveseat in her Pygmy Puff patterned pajamas. Tablet propped on her chest, looking down her nose at it. Draco suspects she will go cross-eyed. The tablet is attached to the internet. Somehow? Draco is not entirely certain how wi-fi works in practice. He knows muggles can access it on their phones and through other electricity devices. Harry has shown him how to access the internet on his office computer. He does know the tablet remains in the library and the children are each limited to two hours on it per day. 

A children’s show plays on the tablet introducing a new song every few minutes for a dozing Lily as Draco works on the stack of papers before him. The songs are mostly unfamiliar to him. One or two he has overheard Lily sing since they met. He rather enjoys the one about the twinkling little star. All are a sharp contrast to the ones he was taught as a boy. Most of those had darker themes – more tracking and hunting creatures.

He is able to complete a significant portion of his work before James wanders in and leaves just as suddenly. Hands in his pockets and the picture of ease. It would not register for Draco too much if the steady stream of noise the boys produce did not suddenly halt a couple minutes later.

Draco hums, sensing imminent doom and rises to investigate. He checks the playroom first and finds it in its typical disarray. Toys everywhere and the odd shoe without its mate. But no boys. He glances in all the second-floor rooms. No boys. He considers calling Kreacher for assistance but determines to see this through on his own. The old elf largely kept to the main floor and kitchen. The children generally obeyed the house elf, but Draco had never seen Harry call him in for help with minding them either.

There is a heavy thunk from above causing Draco to glance up at the ceiling to the third floor. As he heads up the stairway, he begins to make out the boys whispering. Moving slowly to suss out where they are. It is not too challenging a task. He finds the door to the attic ajar, and silently opens it further to climb the steps.

“What’s behind that?” Albus whisper shouts in the way that children do who do not entirely understand the concept of lowering their voice. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

“It's our house, Al.” James says, sounding self-assured. “Dad wouldn’t keep anything here that can hurt us. C’mon, help me pull this off.”

The attic at Grimmauld is not a place for children Draco immediately discerns. A variety of looming tarped objects fill the space reminding him of the storage area of an antiques shop. It smelled similarly too. He steps lightly in the narrow pathway, winding his way toward where he hears the boys. Passing cloaked shapes of wardrobes, lamps, chests, and at least one hanging chandelier. Harry had mentioned storing some Black family heirlooms in the attic, but Draco never imagined it would be so much.

When he turns the corner, he finds the boys tugging at a heavy looking wall hanging that is frayed at the edges. James seems to have ripped the corner nearly in two and is doing further damage if the sound of tearing fabric holds true.

“What are you doing in here, boys?” Draco questions evenly. It will not due to scold them here. He does not want one of them to try to run or fight one another as he has seen them do sometimes before when Harry confronts their misbehavior. They could trip and something heavy could fall on them. What if he was not quick enough to shield them?

Unfortunately, both boys react as if they have been shocked. Albus throws up his side of the wall hanging and as it goes aloft, James' efforts at pulling it down succeed. A wooden covering crashes to the floor in its wake, revealing a portrait of a woman who is fast asleep. 

Draco sighs in relief. He feared it would be a dark object.

It is his turn to be startled when the woman’s eyes bulge open and she begins to screech nonsensically. Hands tearing ineffectively at the border of her painting. Then, realizing her audience, glares down madly at the boys from the faded, yellowed paintwork. “FOUL HALF-BLOODS. CHILDREN OF BLOOD TRAITORS. MY HOUSE RUINED BY YOUR VILE FATHER.”

Draco’s wand is out in a flash as automatic as breathing. James and Albus bolt behind him. Expressions frightened. The woman narrows her gaze on him, face contorting further if possible. “BLOOD TRAITOR! YOU SHALL NOT ESCAPE YOUR FATE! WORSE THAN MY BLASTED GET. NOT WORTHY OF YOUR NAME. NO MORE. NO MORE OF MY HOUSE. WHOR-”

She does not get to finish her condemnations of him. Draco slams the seal – for he knows that is what it was now – back over her with a jerk of his wand. Silencing her and containing her rage. The echo of her screams ring in the attic. Dust motes dance in the streams of sunlight that intersect the room. Draco turns his head, checking on his charges.

The boys look contrite. Shoulders hunched, and two pairs of eyes gazing up at him as wide as saucers. Albus’ lower lip even trembles, his little fist grabbing his older brother’s shirt.

“Go to the library.” Draco orders. It is not said harshly but it is a command that brooks no argument. He will need to make certain the portrait is sealed properly before he can address them. Albus nods and goes. James appears to be deciding if he is going to argue or not, but when he meets Draco’s firm gaze, he mumbles under his breath and follows his brother.

Draco turns back to the scene before him, stepping forward to examine everything. It is simple enough to determine that she has been successfully locked away. The woman in the portrait must be Walburga Black. The great-aunt he met as an infant. He erred in his initial judgement that this portrait was not a dark object. 

The diagnostic charm he casts absolutely shimmers from a decades long curse. An ugly one with some variant of a possession spell. It was never good when a witch or wizard connected part of themselves to an object outside of them. Those spells typically festered as most curses imitating immortality did. This portrait did not allow the impression to leave the frame any longer. Someone must have tried to nullify the spell at one point. It was often the first line of defense with malfunctioning portraits. They were meant to be benign reflections of their counterpart after all.

Yet she knew him and the boys. Despite being stowed away and sealed. It was damned difficult to cut off an object’s sentience. Its connection to a place. He – of all people – should know.

The wall hanging puddled on the dusty floor is a family tree. His mother’s upon closer inspection which is no great surprise. He levitates the hanging to cover Walburga. Draping it over her sealed frame. A dozen or more family members’ names have been burnt off. He assumes by her. The middle Black sister, Andromeda, is scorched between Bellatrix and his mother. The surname at the bottom corner of the tree is his own, featuring the likeness of a male child beneath his parents’ names. The tear in the corner of the fabric nearly severing his silhouette.

Harry returns around mid-afternoon. Draco had re-locked the attic door and spoken to the boys about not going there again. Advising them that their father kept that door locked for a reason to protect them. When asked about how they opened the door both boys became defensive. Trying to hide how they did it. Albus cracks after several moments of Draco patiently waiting. Draco has found this a useful tactic. His confession naturally upsets James who smacks his brother. Draco sends them to their bedrooms to consider their actions. It is what Harry would have done – he thinks.

Lily, who clearly enjoyed the late morning drama, goes from each doorway of her brothers’ rooms poking at their wounds until Draco calls her away.

His boyfriend looks a bit care worn on arrival. Smile slightly strained as he shrugs off his auror robes. Draco has Kreacher bring Harry lunch in the main sitting room. James is still in his bedroom having not apologized yet and Albus appears appropriately abashed at his father’s entrance. So much so, Harry raises questioning eyebrows at Draco, who shakes his head indicating to save it for later. It can wait. Harry can take a moment to acclimatize to being home.

Lily skips up to Harry looking ornery. Dark eyes sparkling mischievously. “Jamie and Al broke the attic.” She tells her father in a sing-song tone.

“We did not.” Al argues immediately, crossing his arms. Pouting from the wall he is leaning against in the sitting room.

“Let your father finish his meal.” Draco chides them without thinking, pouring Harry and him some tea, then taking the seat across from his boyfriend, when it hits him like a doxy to the face.

Merlin and Mordred. He sounds like his mother. Circe’s sake, that is a little too much for him to process at the moment. He rubs at his temples. Reflecting on his life circumstances.

“Lils, don’t tattle.” Harry mildly reproaches his daughter, before tucking into the bacon sandwich Kreacher prepared. A favorite of Harry’s, the elf told him. Lily shrugs, nonplussed, skipping away. Al follows at a trot. Draco is certain they will be relaying their father’s arrival to their older brother.

“Busy morning?” Harry asks around a mouth full of food.

“Not terribly, really. Although the boys did misbehave.” Draco answers, observing his boyfriend settling into his seat, getting comfortable. “Yours?”

Harry sighs, picking up his cup of tea. “A potential break in an investigation we're conducting up north.” Harry responds after taking a drink. But he shakes his head, as if to dislodge the thought of work and puts down his cup. “I’m sorry about leaving. We’ve never discussed you watching them alone before.”

“I am here all the time anyway. I suppose it was bound to happen.” Draco muses. It has been several months since they renewed their acquaintance and began dating. He has no idea what is proper in their case. None of his friends dated anyone with children before that he knows of. None seriously at any rate. When he used to contemplate dating, he imagined a single man. One not too dissimilar from himself. No children and likely no previous marriage with which to contend. Some manner of professional, involved in their own career. Harry is one of the three. 

“We have been at this for a while.” Harry concurs. Studying Draco amusedly. “Will I always get tea and a sandwich first thing when I come home? I think I quite like this side of you, you know.”

“Not on your life.” Draco retorts waspily, forcing himself not to cross his arms defensively. Really. Of course, he was not the only one who realized how domestic this scene was. 

Harry just chuckles. “I had to try.” His boyfriend responds, raising his hands in surrender. “Seriously though, thank you so much for looking after them. I know they can be naughty little shits.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Draco reproaches with a slight frown. Considering their overall behavior since he met the children. “Although, today your sons did break into the one part of the house they were barred from entering the first moment an opportunity arose. They take after _you_ in that regard.”

“How did they get up there?”

Draco recounts the morning’s events and what he learned about the portrait. Sharing how the boys used a contraband object from their uncle’s store to pop open the door which resulted in the thunk Draco heard as it broke the locking charm. How they uncovered Walburga’s portrait and what happened afterward.

“It took me literal years to pry that damn woman off the wall.” Harry says at the end of Draco’s story. Pinching the bridge of his nose. “She drove Sirius mad at the end.”

“I imagine.” 

Harry looks at him seriously. “So, you think I should take her out of the house?”

“I believe that she is still able to gather information about the inhabitants of this house. I find that rather disturbing given the current restrictions on her although she appears incapable of doing anything truly malicious beyond verbal abuse.” Draco theorizes. The particularly ominous threat she issued to him, ‘You shall not escape your fate’ still rang in his ears, hours after the fact. He had no idea what that meant. Nor did he care to find out. It got so tiring when relations made such foreboding pronouncements.

“I know some Unspeakables who might be interested. Unless you have another idea?”

“I might. Let me think on it.” Draco replies. There were still some contacts he had in the dark antiquities world who he would like to consult with about another possible course of action. He may work more in potions now but his education in dark objects was often useful.

James and Albus lose their toy brooms for the week for breaking into the attic. It is the ultimate consequence for misbehavior for the boys. So much so, Draco has only ever seen James’ broom taken away following the boy using Draco’s wand to try to fix the glass phoenix figurine he broke. _That_ had been quite the ordeal for Draco. He was certain it had been the result of James’ resentment of him.

As Harry carries the brooms to the shed and locks them inside, James mimes out his prolonged agony. Holding a hand over his heart and lying prostrate on the stone bench. Albus prepared a few words in advance, on a tear-streaked, lined piece of paper.

“I love you Mini-Bolt. I love how fast you go over the hill at Nan’s. I love that you are better at turning than Jamie’s dumb Rapid.”

“Shut up, Al!” James yells, breaking his mourning.

“The both of you need to think about your words and actions over the next week.” Harry interrupts, looking between his sons sternly. The boys at least have the decency not to grovel or whine. Harry does not tolerate those behaviors.

The day is not a total wash. He and Harry take the children to the park after dinner to burn off some steam. They do not often get out publicly and the children run straight for the playground equipment. Typically, they are either at his flat or Grimmauld with or without the children. He and Harry are still somewhat private about their relationship. By the sounds of things, when Harry does take the children out and about on his own, it is his preference to go to muggle locales to avoid curious wizarding eyes. 

Draco can understand that desire although for very disparate reasons. He has avoided crowded wizarding areas since the war. The first few sojourns into the ministry during his probation taught him to dread and avoid them. Living in France was significantly better. The hatred less intense from the wizarding community there. The dark lord’s hold on the country had been tentative during the second war. Only just infecting the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France. Still, Draco found himself more comfortable with creature folk in that country. The Malfoy name was well-ruined in those days – not that it was much better at present.

When he reflects on the last several months, he is struck by how lucky they are to have their relationship evolve as naturally as it could without wizarding Britain’s scrutiny. He suspects this was only possible because of Harry’s strong insistence on engaging journalists on his terms. Usually this meant strictly from his position as deputy head auror commenting on ministry concerns.

Regardless, Draco is grateful to be out of the spotlight. The last time his name was in the Daily Prophet was over ten years ago. He had naively hoped to keep it that way upon his return to Britain. Wanting to live a quiet but fulfilling life focusing on his work. The minute he agreed to Harry’s request to start meeting outside of their professional relationship, the clock began counting down to the end of his sacred anonymity.

The Weasley family knows about them. Ron Weasley made sure of that announcement following the charity gala. A few more of Draco’s friends are aware now too. He wrote to his mother weeks ago informing her he was seeing a male someone very seriously. Someone, he wrote, that she might not forgive him for caring about. Her letter back had been more supportive than he could have anticipated. Encouraging him to be happy of all things.

The boys are playfully hanging upside down from the interconnected metal dome. Black hair standing on end. Quite over their punishment from earlier in the day – for now. Other muggle children are doing the same or clambering to the top. Lily chooses a peeling bouncy horse to play on. The pigtails Draco put in her hair this morning, flapping in the wind. The great big smile on her face reminds him of Harry. All cheek.

He and Harry walk the sidewalk perimeter around the playground, stopping here and there to watch the children. Muggles are interspersed throughout in their own couples and families. Young people sitting on the public benches with their cellular phones out. It occurs to him how peaceful all this is. A perfect autumn day. Fountains gently trickling in the background and children playing in front of them. Harry’s warm hand in his own. This could be some version of the rest of his life if he permits himself to continue to walk this path.

“I didn’t expect this, you know.” Draco starts, not quite sure how to say what is on his mind.

“What? The park?” Harry wonders aloud, tone confused. Strands of his dark hair falling out of his hair tie as he cocks his head back, considering. “I know we usually go to the other one.”

“No, being here with you and the children – like this.” Draco says meaningfully, briefly squeezing his boyfriend’s hand tighter. Hopefully, Harry will know what he means. Draco can admit he is not especially good at expressing himself. If he is truthful, Harry is better at it.

“I’m glad you’re here too.” Harry agrees, running his thumb over Draco’s knuckles. “Everything is better with you here.”

“I doubt that.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Harry responds, expression affectionate. “You’re the best thing that's happened to me this year. I want to keep you if you let me.”

Draco allows a small smile despite himself. Harry was probably the best thing that has happened to him this decade – if not his whole life. How can he compare? But the way Harry looks at him is something else entirely. The setting evening sun making his boyfriend’s green eyes glimmer and the silvery highlights in his black hair stand out. His face alight looking intently at Draco. It makes him feel like he is worthwhile. Loved.

“Harry, I –

“Dad, Draco, look!” James yells, he is still hanging upside down and holding onto Albus' ankles. Dangling his brother by his feet. Al is laughing, swinging himself back and forth, jumper exposing his belly, and yelling for their attention too. 

Harry laughs beside him.

-

_DEATH EATER DAYCARE?_

_Yes, you saw right, my dear readers. The man pictured above is notorious former death eater, Draco Malfoy, seen here with the Potter children eating pudding of all things. The question of the day is – what is going on? Both parents of the children, Deputy Head Auror Potter and his ex-wife Ginevra Weasley, were reached out to for comment. Each declined to speak on the matter. Leaving us to speculation and further investigation._

_Our reporter discovered that Malfoy returned to Britain in January of this year to work at the Mercury Medical Clinic & Research Center. Potter was previously reported in connection with this same clinic in August when he attended a charity function for them. At that time, he was seen accompanying socialite Astoria Greengrass at the event._

_Malfoy is known to be a close associate of Greengrass, who can be seen below, pictured in the background at the opening of Greengrass’ restaurant Dulce Verte – the crème de la crème of the magical community’s French eateries. Could it be that our Savior has found love again in the form of Astoria Greengrass? There has been speculation for years about Potter’s romantic life._

_However, Greengrass denies any romantic relationship with Potter. Going on record to state, ‘I have only recently become acquainted with Auror Potter. We are not romantically attached, and I will not provide further comment on his personal affairs.’ It should be noted Greengrass has a long history of denying romantic ties where there is veritable evidence of such a relationship._

_Whatever the case may be. It is curious that Potter would allow Malfoy in the presence of his children. But perhaps there is some precedence. After all, Potter has been known to extend a diplomatic hand to groups with dark histories before [see earlier articles on international werewolf relations]. So that begs the question, what is going on?_

It is not a very flattering photo. Draco feels comfortable admitting that. He looks okay physically, but he does not seem like he is in charge. Lily is on his hip, eating straight from the little cup in her hand. Chocolate smeared all over her face. He is wiping at it with a paper serviette. The boys are using their spoons to catapult the remains of their dessert at each other. Bits of bread and butter pudding in James’ hair and Albus’ face. Smiling and laughing at each other.

They had stopped at the café before going back to Draco’s flat. Waiting outside for Harry. His boyfriend had actually been in the restroom of the shop at the time. Draco wonders what picture the photographer would have snapped once Harry returned to their group.

The Howlers had been hitting Draco’s wards on and off for the last few days. Resulting in him working from home. He hoped things would calm by the end of the week and he could go into the office without the fuss of a Howler finding him there and disrupting business. Otherwise the news had not changed much of his daily life. It was a minor hassle for him. The wizarding world by-and-large hated him and he had isolated himself from much of it. 

Harry’s situation was entirely different.

“It really is idiotic, darling. I’ve forgotten how moronic the British press can be.” Astoria drawls.

Their bi-weekly fire call usually focused more on Astoria’s goings on, but the recent news had changed that. Draco was unsure whether he liked that or not, but Astoria appeared to be enjoying their conversation.

“I am sorry if it's caused you any trouble.” Draco apologizes. He feels badly her name has been drawn in again. She has only met Harry the once after all.

Astoria shakes her head, where it is glowing in the fireplace. “Don't worry about me. I will be fine. This is far from my first foray into the spotlight after all. If anything, it should be good for business.”

“You’re still moving forward with the plan to open then?” He asks. Astoria and her business partner, Simone, had begun by opening clubs and a restaurant in Paris. They were expanding their business empire world-wide in the last year. Astoria had a natural talent for finding fun, exciting things muggles and magical beings alike wanted to purchase.

“Oh, yes. The Asian and North American branches are doing well. It is past time to open in London. A club of course, if only to upset mummy. Plus, it will give me another excuse to see you more anyway since you’re certainly not moving back.”

“I suppose not.” Draco concurs with a nod. “My job is all that I hoped it would be. I’ve been allowed to pursue my interests in developing more treatments for maligning curses.”

“Please, that is not the only reason you’re staying, and you know it.” Astoria replies, smile wicked. “I don't care how happy work is making you. I have seen you content in your research before this, you know. If it were down to job satisfaction and cloistering yourself away in a potions lab you would have stayed in France.”

“That’s not true." He protests. "Britain is one of the few places I have access to more ethically gathered resources. Mokes come to mind, not to mention porlocks.”

“Come off it, Draco.” Astoria rebuts with a snort.

“Now you sound like Harry.”

Astoria gives him a long look. It is more self-satisfied than Draco would like.

“What?” He questions, nonplussed.

“Nothing.” Astoria deflects cheerily. “I'm just happy you’ve finally given up calling him ‘Potter’ all the time. Really, Draco. You two are dating exclusively for goodness sake.”

Draco covers his face with his hands. He hates doing that. It was such an awful tell, but Astoria had a way of teasing him into embarrassment. She was like Harry that way. If only she had been a man.

Astoria squeals. “Draco Lucius Malfoy, are you _shagging_ Harry Potter?!”

“We’re not talking about this.” Draco mutters, lowering his hands, utterly self-conscious. He will face his mortification like a man. He does not want to be a prude. It irritates him that he reacts like this. Sex was never discussed growing up and when it did it was couched in terms of marriage and having perfect, pure blood children. He considers himself much more open to talking about sexuality now, but it has rarely been in the context of his relationships. He was much better at talking about sex when it involved other people. When his friends needed advice or a friendly ear.

“Is it good?" His friend questions sounding delighted. "I bet it is. Look how pink you are! Ooh, Draco, you have to tell me all about it or share.”

“I will not.” Draco declares defensively inciting Astoria to howl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is always fun writing Draco. I'm excited to write about his developing relationships with these Potters. As usual, I own nothing. Thank you for reading and for the lovely comments I have received on this fic. They are all appreciated.


	7. Weasleys and Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General Warning: this chapter contains one instance of a homophobic slur.  
> There is a lot of plot happening in this one. I hope you enjoy. As always, I own nothing. Thank you for reading.

The third Sunday of the month was traditionally Weasley family brunch day. Harry tried to bring his children to every single one. If there was one thing he loved better than Molly Weasley’s homemade waffles it was her omelets. The fluffy perfection of folded egg with every ingredient one could want tucked inside. It was the food his childhood dreams were made of. Molly showed her love through cooking and Harry felt very loved. 

It was something they had in common, he had found. Cooking in the kitchen with Molly was something they could bond over. He had been so starved for parental affection that even as a young adult he gobbled it up where he could. Molly had fulfilled much of it.

The Weasley brunch, following the gala where he informed Ron and Hermione that he was dating Draco Malfoy, was in a word: awkward. Harry had not looked forward to being in the same room with Ron. It was over two weeks after the party and Harry was still torn between frustration and sympathy for his friend. The mix of emotions was giving him a serious headache and he didn't have it in him to deny himself Molly’s brunch by the time Sunday arrived. 

He was only one human man.

“Harry.” Ron states, finally acknowledging him after being coldly silent all morning. The other Weasleys present had looked questioningly between them for the last hour but said nothing. Allowing the tension to brew. Likely hoping it would fizzle out on its own as it had in the past.

“Ronald.” Harry returns, not feeling especially friendly right now either.

The bacon rashers are in the tray on the dining table between them. He and Ron were currently engaged in a staring contest over which of them would pass the rashers along to Percy who had asked for them. Nearly all their worst conflicts as adults came to crescendo during a meal. Usually it ended with bygones being bygones. 

Today felt different though.

“I’ve got it, Ron.” Harry says, reaching his hand out to the tray. Ron mirrors the action leading them to another stalemate. Green eyes meeting blue in a battle of wills.

“Do you?” The man questions darkly. Expression stormy. “I think I know my brother fairly well, and he would want _me_ to pass him the bacon.”

“What does it matter?” He argues back, keeping his voice even as the others were trying to enjoy their meal. “We’re the same distance away.”

“I don’t know, Harry. Percy is on my side of the table. I think he would prefer me to hand it over. Given we are on _the same side._ Maybe you should stick to your side of the table. Seeing as you’ve chosen the _other_ side.” Ron quibbles back.

Harry scowls, “And maybe you shouldn’t only stick with food on your side of the table, Ron. If you did, you wouldn’t have any waffles since they are on _my_ side.”

“Oh, don’t concern yourself with that. I have very long arms.” Ron responds scathingly.

Harry rolls his eyes so hard it feels like he just put a crick in his neck. “So, _you_ can reach over to this side of the table, but _I_ can’t.”

“ _I_ would never do anything horrible with the waffles. I don’t know what to expect from _you_ anymore. Who knows what you’d do to the bacon? I can’t take that chance.”

“Would I really ruin bacon, Ron?” Harry exclaims, outraged. “Bacon! My third-favorite breakfast food?”

Ron squints at him but remains unmoved. Harry is appalled.

“I would really just like the bacon.” Percy cuts in politely despite the frosty argument occurring in front of him, eyes glancing impatiently between the two men. “Please.”

“You shut the hell up, Percy!” Ron thunders, not breaking eye contact with Harry.

The table clatters to a stop at that pronouncement. Cutlery falling to plates. The Weasley family was used to a certain level of rambunctiousness, but this was a bit too much.

“Ron!” Hermione reproves, sounding shocked. Harry hopes the look he gives her informs her that she should not be surprised.

“Boys!” Molly admonishes at the same time. Blowing a stray grey hair out of her face where she is bustling about the kitchen, floating over dishes to the children’s table set up outside. Molly hated when anyone in the family seriously fought. “What in the world is going on with you two?”

The two men glare at each other.

Harry grits his teeth. Then releases the tray. Ron practically throws it at Percy, who does appear pleased to finally get his bacon.

All the Weasleys are staring at them. The ones present at any rate. Bill, Fleur, Percy, Audrey, George, Angelina, Arthur, and Molly. The typical bunch really. The rest were often out of country, students at Hogwarts, or otherwise occupied.

“Is now really the time?” Hermione hisses at Ron, pressing her palm to her cheek, obviously stressed.

“I don’t know, ‘Mione.” Ron grouses, crossing his arms and glaring at Harry. “Seems to me everyone here ought to know what Harry’s been up to.”

“Oooh.” George reacts drawing the word out dramatically, the only person at the table who seems entertained. “What have you done, Harry?”

“More like who.” Ron mumbles under his breath. Everyone hears him anyway, considering they all turn as one to face Harry except Hermione who gawks at her husband.

“Ronald,” Hermione whispers tone mortified. “You are embarrassing yourself.”

“You might be embarrassed, but I’m not.” Ron replies clearly, continuing to stare accusingly at Harry. “I’m angry.”

“Fine.” Harry says with finality. Using his commanding tone. He can be mature. “Be angry, Ron. It won’t change anything.” He grits out, moving to stand. Suddenly feeling embarrassed at his own childishness. He looks over to Molly, whose expression is upset and bewildered. He tries to find the words to apologize for ruining her lovely meal.

“I’m sorry, Molly." He starts, a bit abashed. "I shouldn’t have come today. Ron and I are still in a row and I hoped we could get past it.” He takes a deep breath, pushing in his chair. Gripping the back of it. Making his decision to comment on Ron’s earlier insinuation. 

“I am dating someone seriously.” He informs the table. “Ron doesn’t like him.”

“Him?” Molly repeats, placing a hand to her chest.

“Draco. Malfoy.” Ron states loudly, dragging out each syllable.

“Bloody fucking hell.” Bill swears. Fleur rests a hand on his shoulder. George’s mischievous expression immediately falls, eyes widening in disbelief. The others in the room visibly tense. Molly sways once where she is standing in the kitchen and walks over to hold the back of her husband’s chair.

Harry glances down at his hands, frowning to himself. It is better that it all comes out. Ginny knows now. The family should be aware too. He is with Draco. That is not going to change any time soon – never if he has his way.

There is a long silence.

“Well that seems alright.” Arthur says after a while, scratching at his chin, tone contemplative. “It’s been years and he switched sides at the end, didn’t he? And he finished his probation. It was in the papers. Shouldn’t that count for something?” Arthur speculates glancing about the table with a small frown. 

A strained moment passes.

“Besides, Audrey likes him too, don’t you dear?” The older man adds. “You mentioned once when the Malfoys came up in conversation.”

“Oh.” Audrey squeaks surprised to have the attention suddenly on her, blushing bright red. She tended to be shy by nature. Harry occasionally felt pity for her as the Weasley family was full of strong personalities and that could be overwhelming. 

“I – er – yes I do.” Audrey stammers. “I worked with him once at St. Petra’s a couple years ago. He was in the pharmaceutical potioneering department. The antidote he created allowed us to save several critical patients. I was impressed by his kindness and dedication.”

“Malfoy . . . kind?” George states skeptically. Expression incredulous. “Never mind all he’s done to this family, then.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that,” Percy interjects, defending his wife. “Audrey’s worked with some very dire cases. Any help was welcome, I imagine.” He concludes nodding toward his wife.

“And what about Ron?” George points out, waving a hand around. “He was nearly killed by the prat. And then there’s Bill. Greyback got to him because of Malfoy’s actions. He lives with the scars of that every day!”

“Hold up, George. I know this is a shock, but don’t use me to make a case against Malfoy.” Bill breaks in, tone reproachful. “He was a teenager when all that happened, and we know Voldemort was basically holding his parents hostage at the time. Greyback did this to me - not Malfoy.” He ends, gesturing to the diagonal scars across his face from the werewolf’s claws. “I came to terms with that ages ago.”

“None of us are who we were back then.” Angelina remarks, melodic voice soothing. Ebony-colored face serious as she pauses, looking at her husband. “If Audrey and Harry like him, that’s enough for me to give Malfoy another chance. I trust them both.”

“Who's talking about chances?” George spars back. Face going red.

“I am.” Angelina challenges firmly. “What was the point of the war if people can’t change and grow? If we can’t make something good and new from all that pain? Yes, Malfoy did awful things. I don’t think anyone is denying that. He was punished, right? Arthur makes some good points.”

“Well, count me out of it.” Ron responds to his sister-in-law, giving Harry a hard look. “I am too well aware of what Malfoy is like and what he is capable of doing. Nothing he does can make up for those things.”

Harry closes his eyes. Trying for calm as he feels his temper spark. He can understand Ron’s feelings, but it still hurts. The worst bit is that Draco would likely agree with Ron which is laughable on its own.

“Harry,” Molly says, getting his attention. “You want to be with him – with Malfoy?”

“Yes.” He asserts. Observing her and everyone else’s reactions to his statement. “We’ve been dating for some time.”

Ron harrumphs. But no one else reacts.

Molly sighs heavily, worrying her lower lip. “I guess this – I shouldn’t be – but I still hoped you and Ginny would . . . maybe.”

“Oh, Molly.” Harry voices, heart twisting and taking the few steps toward her. “Molly – no. No.” He gently consoles. He had no idea she was still holding on to that hope. It'd been years.

“I know it’s silly.” She blubbers, wiping at her eyes with the dry kitchen towel over her shoulder. “You’re divorced. I know that, of course you’re moving on. Why wouldn’t you?”

Harry moves to hug his former mother-in-law. Resting his cheek on the crown of her head as Molly squeezes him back. She was the best hugger. It never failed to make him feel like he belonged with them. Like he was twelve years old again and getting the first taste of parental affection.

When they let go of each other, he clasps her lightly by the shoulders. “I appreciate everything you do for me and my sprogs. I love you and I’m sorry I’ve been such a nuisance today. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I want you to be happy.” Molly tells him earnestly, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I’ve always wanted that for you. I know that my children have to choose what that means for themselves – even if I don’t quite understand it.”

Harry’s heart soars at her thoughtful words. It was funny how much Ginny and Molly were alike considering their famous rows and completely inverse wants in life. But Harry could hear the echo of his ex-wife’s words from what her mother was saying now.

He kisses Molly’s cheek. Then, facing the table – particularly Ron – nods to them and goes to collect his children. Hopefully, they would be done with their meal.

-

“Boss!” Doge shouts for him as Harry makes his way through bull pen in the auror department. “Robards wants to see you.”

Harry waves indicating he heard the trainee and Doge turns to chase after the group leaving for the morning’s dueling exercises. 

It had been a long night. He had been tracking a witch suspected of smuggling banned substances stolen from hags between Scotland and Ireland. He and one of the aurors in his squad, Twysley, had apprehended her and secured a large amount of her supplies. It was a significant win. This was a case his squad had been working on and off for several months. 

All he wanted to do was dictate his report, alone in his office, and call it a day.

If Robards was summoning him now, it was at least a level three concern. As a deputy head of the department, he was consulted on a variety of issues categorized due to threat level. Level five being the maximum, where the ministry itself and/or magical society was at risk of imminent doom. There were four deputy heads of the auror department plus head auror Robards. Three of them were needed to make official decisions.

Moira Whitacre and Oumar Sy, his fellow deputy heads, and Robards are there when he arrives. Heavy door closing automatically behind him. It was not unusual for them to gather early in the morning like this when the day shift was starting.

“Potter, take a seat.” Robards offers brusquely and a chair slides out politely. Harry sits down and tries not to yawn.

“A complaint was lodged against the department this morning. Claiming one of our top aurors has been compromised.”

“Who?” Harry asks. Wanting to get to the point.

“You, Potter.” Robards replies blandly as he leans against his desk, cup of coffee in hand. “I haven’t been informed who filed it yet or the evidence – the DMLE got the original complaint. But they claim you’ve been compromised by Draco Malfoy. I’m guessing the news in the Prophet the other day of your family’s association with Malfoy led to it.” 

“Ridiculous conjecture.” Whitacre complains, “We don’t have time to waste on petty gossip, Robards. I thought this was about a real problem – not Potter’s social life. No offense, Harry.” She adds, not unkindly.

“None taken.” Harry says, tilting his head toward her in acknowledgement. He appreciates her directness. 

The last week had been an odd one since the article came out with the picture of Draco and his children at the café. People at the ministry seemed to be eyeing him and whispering more than usual as he passed by. He had answered questions succinctly from other people in the department about Draco, stating he and Draco were good friends – that he trusted him around his children. It was what they agreed to say if they were asked about one another by people who were not press. They were in an ongoing debate about when to issue a statement about their relationship. One had already been drafted by Harry’s PR agent, but they remained unsure. Draco felt it was Harry’s decision, given his very public presence. Harry thought they should choose together.

“How do you want to handle this?” He asks Robards, trying to move this along.

There will be an audit on all Harry’s recent cases. He knows this. It is precisely what he would do in Robards’ position. Harry cannot count how many audits he has been through at this point. This was a semi-regular part of the job especially the higher in the department an auror rose. In fact, he was one of the aurors who wrote the policy calling for it in these situations. Accountability was a primary goal for their department following the war. Besides, he knew without a doubt there was no kernel of truth in the complaint. He hopes this can be put to bed easily.

“Let’s get ahead of it.” Robards states. “We complete an internal audit like policy dictates. If you’re good, you’re good. If for whatever reason you’re not, we will reconvene then. I just needed to inform you, Potter, and a hold the vote on beginning the audit.”

Harry nods. It will be a long morning too, it seems.

“All in favor, then?” Sy posits, checking his wristwatch.

Whitacre and Robards vote in favor as expected. Robards records it with a wave of his wand toward some parchment that copies itself. One for their department. The other for the independent inquisitors who review such cases. They all move as one to get the day started on toward more productive action.

Sy and Robards escort him to one of their conference rooms. He is no longer allowed free access to the bull pen and his office without supervision. Not until this is cleared up. Harry hopes this will be finished in time for him to meet up with Draco for lunch. One of the hit wizards arrive to guard him. Stationed outside the door. Sy wishes him good luck and exits. Robards gives a curt nod and does the same. Harry feels more annoyed than anything. He has nothing to hide. 

The sooner this is over the better.

The nearly fifty cases he supervises and the dozen or so he has been involved in personally in the last six months come under review including the one that concluded last night. Harry waives his right to counsel. He knew his rights and when it was necessary to retain a lawyer. The independent auditor sent to perform the interview is direct in their approach although the litany of questions takes over an hour at least. Harry answers them all as honestly as he can. The majority being case-sensitive.

“How often have you discussed your work with Mr. Malfoy?”

“It gets mentioned when we socialize.” Harry answers. “Not always though.”

“What about your work is discussed?”

“I usually tell him if work was stressful or not that day. Maybe a few broad descriptions of cases like if it is new or old or ongoing. If I'm on call. I don't get into specifics of cases otherwise.”

“And what is the nature of your relationship?”

Harry sighs, breathing hard through his nose. Frowning. This was the one question he was dreading, and he had to answer it. No matter his personal feelings. “We are dating.” He states.

“Who else can verify this?”

“Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, most of his family, or Draco himself.”

“How many individuals in the auror department are aware of your romantic attachment to Mr. Malfoy?”

“None to my knowledge.”

“Auror Potter, we will be seeking statements from the three individuals you named. One of our staff will contact you afterward and inform you of our decision. Please remain here in the meantime.”

Harry dozes on the couch in the conference room. It is not particularly comfortable, but he is tired, and his leg ached. He scribbles out a hasty note to Molly asking her to please mind the children another night which his guard forwards to one of the office owls. Harry dislikes being away from them more than one night when they are in his care but needs must.

He must have fallen more deeply asleep than he intended because the next thing he knows is he is being shaken awake by an alarmed Draco Malfoy.

“Harry!” Draco speaks to him urgently. “They want me to take Veritaserum.”

“What?!” Harry exclaims, sitting up as Draco backs off. Looking paler than normal which in his case meant the man was white as a sheet. Body language stiff. Expression flickering between blankness and anxiety. It puts Harry on edge to see Draco so distressed.

“Should I contact my solicitor?” Draco asks beginning to sound panicky.

“Who wants you to take Veritaserum?” Harry asks again. Gathering his wits about him.

“Inquisitors. There was a group of them when I arrived outside your department. They sent a fire summons to my work. They told me you were being questioned because of me – that I had been accused of compromising auror investigations. Then two aurors brought me here. What happened? What did I do?” Draco says in a rush.

“Nothing. You’ve done nothing wrong. Someone got it into their head I’ve been compromised by you. There was a complaint.” He explains, lifting his hand to the side of Draco’s face to comfort him. “Why did they bring you here? There was no reason for that. It’s just an audit. Those happen often enough. All they should have done is taken your statement.”

Draco shakes his head. “The inquisitors said there were discrepancies . . . and evidence? I asked for more information, but they told me they would be holding an emergency oversight hearing.”

Harry furrows his brow. Confused. “We’ll figure it out.” He attempts to reassure his boyfriend. Mentally reviewing what he discussed with the auditor. Nothing was amiss so far as he knew. There is a cursory knock at the door and the guard opens it. Harry spies two aurors – not from his own squad of course – behind the guard.

They are led to one of the smaller hearing rooms on the Wizengamot’s floor. Ministry personnel scurry out of the way of their procession. Many staring, once they realize it is him and Draco Malfoy being brought in by guards. He can tell by the way their mouths move, shaping their names, and as more eyes land on Draco. 

Curiosity. Disgust. Awe.

It is also becoming obvious that Draco is shutting down. His movements are jerkier like he is looking for an escape. Skin still a ghostly pale. Harry grasps Draco’s elbow, attempting to calm his boyfriend but is shaken off. Draco’s expression is flat. Eyes distant.

A council is indeed present once they arrive. Sitting behind a long, curved table before them. Harry has seen some of them before. None of which he knows personally. Robards is here along with members of his own squad, sitting on the benches. Expression irate and mouth in a thin line. It is relieving to see Hermione standing before the council. Composed and professional. 

“May I ask the reason for this oversight hearing?” Harry states his question loudly for the room as he stands beside his friend. “I was under the impression my audit was progressing without issue.”

A councilwoman near the center of the table and answers. “We were formed at the recommendation of our auditor due to the statements and evidence gathered.”

“And what evidence is that, councilwoman?” Hermione asks in clipped tone.

“The initial complaint included a compromising photograph that needs to be addressed further. That, in addition to the statement collected from a Mr. Ronald Weasley has raised concerns about security.”

Harry forces himself to remain relaxed, taking a deep breath. He has not the faintest clue about the supposed compromising photo. That will have to wait for now. But, he and Ron had yet to reconcile. It had been nearly two months since the argument at the Burrow. They had attempted a dinner, mediated by Hermione, but that had fallen apart at the end as well. It was the longest they had ever been in a row. Harry missed his friend and felt guilty about the position they had put Hermione in once again. As if they were boys bickering back at Hogwarts. But he wants to be with Draco. Feels surer about that every day.

The hearing room’s doors open wide and he watches Ron being escorted in by a guard. Harry does his best to maintain a neutral demeanor. He is angry though. Angry that Draco has to be put through this because of something Ron said. 

Hermione shifts on her feet. Expression complicated. Ron walks up to where they stand. Making careful eye contact with Harry and Draco before sharing a long look with his wife. Draco is stock still beside Harry.

“Now that everyone is present, we will proceed with the oversight hearing. Guards, if you will please?”

The guards wave their wands as one and a table and chairs appear. Harry takes his seat along with the rest. It reminds him of negotiations he has been present at before. Except not everyone at his table has the same aim.

“The complaint sent to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement alleges that Mr. Draco Malfoy's relationship with Auror Potter jeopardizes the legitimacy of the criminal investigations under Auror Potter’s purview. The complainant has requested to remain anonymous. Three statements have been collected, thus far. Counselor Granger, Auror Potter, and Mr. Weasley are all well-known and well-respected individuals who have given numerous statements and testimony in hearings over the years. All three have previous, or continued employment in the ministry. Each holding a high level of security clearance. 

"Due to the discrepancy between Weasley’s statement and the Potter and Granger statements and Mr. Malfoy’s criminal background, it was recommended by our auditor that Mr. Malfoy make his statement with an oversight hearing present to determine if there has been any subterfuge or unlawful access to Auror Potter’s case work. We recommend Veritaserum to ensure total honesty and conclude the matter expediently.”

“Respectfully,” Hermione interrupts, standing with her palms flat on the table surface, in full Wizengamot mode. “Mr. Malfoy has been a private, law-abiding citizen since the successful completion of his probation in 1999. I wonder if he has been made aware of his rights vis a vis answering the questions of this inquisitorial committee or given the option of accepting any possible charges and moving this to a formal court of law.”

“We were getting to that, Counselor Granger, thank you.” Another councilmember states, before looking toward Draco. “Mr. Malfoy, you have the right to council, the right to decline making a statement at this time, and a right to request this oversight hearing charge you officially and upgrade to a court proceeding. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?”

“Yes, thank you.” Draco answers voice polite and assured. Surprising Harry, considering how Draco had reacted earlier.

“And what say you, sir?” The councilmember prompts.

“I wish to speak to council.”

“We have several on-call solicitors at present on this floor or if you would rather -

“I will offer council!” Hermione declares, standing again.

Draco turns to look at her. Harry watches his boyfriend’s grey eyes study Hermione, perfectly still and up-right in his seat. The man reminded Harry of a marble statue. Immovable.

“I accept.” Draco agrees, rising gracefully to his feet as well.

A gavel bangs on the table. “We will reconvene in fifteen minutes. We expect an answer to whether you will be providing a statement today or not, Mr. Malfoy. Evidence submitted will be discussed at that time. Do you understand, Mr. Malfoy?”

“I do.”

The three of them gather off to the side of the room. Ron remains seated.

“What should we do?” Harry immediately asks Hermione. He has never seen an oversight hearing recommend Veritaserum before. The whole thing strikes him wrong, but he is uncertain if court would be much better. There would be news coverage. Evidence, whatever it was, aired publicly. And Harry _has_ seen Veritaserum recommended there albeit only in rare cases.

Hermione assesses Draco. “You have nothing to hide?” She demands sternly.

“No.” Draco says simply. “I don’t know anything specific about Harry’s work. He doesn't tell me those things. I try not to ask.”

Her brow furrows, glowering. “Then, I recommend you give your statement today.”

“What about the Veritaserum?” Harry cuts in. Surely, they can fight that.

“If you refuse to take it, they may move to charge you and go to trial. My instinct is that they would. If we go to trial, there is no guarantee you would not have to take it anyways. If you do take it, they are only allowed to question you about the facts pertaining to this case. Taking the potion can only help your cause if you have nothing to hide, even though the potion itself is not a 100% guarantee of truthfulness.” She delineates, frowning. “Draco, it is your decision. I will support you regardless.”

Draco nods slowly, brow furrowed. Clearly thinking over his options. Harry puts a reassuring hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder, but again, is shaken off. 

Hermione looks apologetically at Harry and then back at Draco. “I-I apologize for my husband’s behavior.” Hermione begins, sounding stricken. “He has no reasonable proof something criminal is occurring between you and Harry.”

“It is okay, Granger.” Draco responds, sounding conflicted. “I don’t think Weasley wanted this.”

When Harry glances back to observe Ron. He finds his friend looking morose, staring at his clasped hands before him. Draco didn't know Ron all that well, but Harry believes his boyfriend is correct in his assumption. This is not Ron full of righteous anger or revenge. Harry has seen what that looks like. He would say his friend appears torn now. It still stings though. He cannot deny that. They are here – in part – because of Ron.

“I will take it.” Draco decides.

It is distinctly terrible for Harry to watch Draco drinking from the cup he is offered with three drops of Veritaserum in it. Adam’s apple bobbing. Harry blames himself. He was unable to protect Draco from the scrutiny of the ministry. An organization he represents. He should have foreseen this possibility. The questions, gossip, and rumors he experienced in recent days – he thought – would be it from the ministry. Particularly, since it seemed solely aimed at him. He assumed it would ebb and flow as the media discovered more about them and wrote further disparaging articles. Perhaps some verbal abuse from other ministry workers, maybe some from staff in his department. But not this. Not Draco hauled into an oversight hearing of all things. His primary concern had been focused on Draco’s safety and he suspects that blinded him.

The worst-case scenario was Draco being attacked or cursed. They had been lucky; nothing had shown itself yet. Harry had strengthened the wards on Draco’s flat accordingly. Made it so no cursed mail or packages could arrive at his door or work despite Draco’s complaints that he could manage dark objects. He gifted Draco a watch and cufflinks with strong protection charms inscribed on them. Both of which Draco happened to be wearing now.

But it wasn't enough.

“State your name for the record, please.”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

“Can you name this man?”

A blown-up photograph flies over to their table. Floating in front of Draco for him to examine. 

He, Ron, and Hermione lean in to see as well. There is a familiar seeming man in it next to Draco. They are at the Mercury Clinic. The sign can be partially seen above where Draco is packing something in a container at the front desk. One of the receptionists beside his boyfriend has the clinic’s schedule out before her and seems to be talking to the man. The angle is strange, as if it were taken surreptitiously. Harry’s stomach sinks when he realizes it is a wizard that members of his squad arrested not even a month ago.

“No, I cannot.” Draco answers quickly. Like the words burn to get out of him. A classic characteristic of the truth serum in its drinkers.

“Why is this man at this clinic?”

“One of my coworkers is his healer.”

“What were you assisting him with?”

“I was sealing his medicinal potion in a carrier box for him. We were short-staffed that day, so I helped reception.”

“How often have you met with this man?”

“That was the only occasion.”

“What is your relationship to Auror Potter?”

Draco’s lips twitch minutely. “He is my boyfriend.”

The reaction of the room is varied. Harry notes. A handful of council members appear to startle, brows raising. As if waking up to a sudden alarm buzzing. Professional demeanors cracking for a moment. It confirms to Harry that not all of them have read _his_ statement. He can hear one of Robards’ squad whisper ‘did you know about this?’.

“How long have you been in a relationship with Auror Potter?”.

“Six months.”

“What do you know of Auror Potter’s work?”

“He works at the British Ministry of Magic as an auror." Draco replies rapidly. "He investigates and tracks dark wizards and witches. On occasion, he is called on to capture them.”

“What information do you have on any of his cases?”

“There was a case he was on that took him north once. I don’t know where. He had to leave us that day.”

“Us?”

“His children and myself.”

“Are you aware of any other specific details about Auror Potter's cases?”

“No.”

A younger councilman clears his throat after a moment, then asks. “Do you have any interest in his work as an auror?”

“No, I don’t like them.”

“Who?”

“Aurors.” Draco answers automatically, face pinking in embarrassment. Harry can see where Draco’s hands clench into fists under the table. Shaking from tension. It was news to him the Draco didn't like aurors. He had no idea.

“Not all of them. Not Harry, of course, but they frighten me.” Draco continues, speech pressured, and muscle working in his cheek as if he is trying to censor himself. “They hurt my mother.”

A murmur that goes through the room at that. Harry feels sick.

“How did they hurt your mother?”

Hermione jumps to her feet, waving her wand, silencing Draco as his boyfriend continues to speak. Lips moving, but no sound heard. “Objection, relevance?”

The councilman bows his head. “Retracted.”

Hermione lifts the silencing spell. Draco waits, facing the inquisitors expectantly. Harry can see how upset Draco is right now by the way he holds himself, but he doubts very much the council can tell the degree to which Draco is affected. They may guess at some embarrassment given the receding flush on the man’s face. However, Draco continues to project polite indifference despite that hurdle.

“One last question, Mr. Malfoy. Do you have any thoughts, plans, or have you acted to insert yourself or interfere with any cases in the auror department?”

“No.”

The silence resounds in the chamber. The council members look between each other, nodding and murmuring to their neighbors. Harry hopes that will be the last of it.

“In the matter of Mr. Malfoy compromising Auror Potter’s ability to maintain effectiveness and confidentiality as an auror, we find the case unfounded. We appreciate everyone’s cooperation in this emergency oversight hearing. The -

Harry doesn't hear the rest of it. He pulls Draco out of his seat and leads them toward the potioneer present who gave Draco the Veritaserum. He will not allow Draco to be forced to spew any more truths before he can be given the antidote.

“Harry, wait.” Ron calls out.

Harry nods to Draco to go on and turns to face his friend. Hermione looks cross. Hands on her hips as she frowns up at her husband.

“I’m sorry, mate. All I told them was I didn't trust Malfoy. I did not accuse him of tampering with your cases. I didn’t make the complaint either.”

Harry sighs. All he wants is to go home and talk with Draco. “We kinda guessed. Thank you for saying something.”

Ron nods, seeming solemn. Draco returns to their group. Steps light. When Harry takes his hand, it is clammy feeling in his own. At least, Draco does not pull away from him this time.

“I'm . . . sorry, Malfoy.” Ron apologizes, mouth strained as he says the words. “I may not like you, but all this was uncalled for. I did not claim that you obstructed any of Harry’s cases in any way.”

Draco does not react really to Ron. Or even acknowledge that he is there. Eyes skittering away like something is moving off to the side.

“Draco?” Harry prompts, concerned.

“I need to go home.” Draco says, voice quiet and gaze far away. Harry has the impression his boyfriend is about to pass out.

The Granger-Weasleys follow them as they head toward the nearest floo. Harry recognizes the cadence in Hermione’s voice as she flies through what just happened. She and Ron are about to have an epic row. Harry would bet big money on it. But he does not have time to feel whatever guilt or vindication about that now.

They go to Draco's flat. Harry doesn't have to collect the children any time soon and he thinks his boyfriend will feel better there than Grimmauld at the moment. 

Olta greets them cheerily, springing into action once she takes in Draco’s visage. Going into the kitchen to brew tea and put together some food to nosh on. Harry is grateful for the elf as he leads Draco to the bedroom. Draco sits, leaning against the cypress headboard and holding on to one of the slats as he rests his head against it.

“What happen, Mr. Draco?” Olta asks worriedly in her heavy accent, a tea tray floating behind her as she enters the room. “Are you ill? Should I call a healer?”

“I don't need a healer, thank you, Olta. I need to rest. I will be okay.” Draco reassures. Sounding calm. Olta buzzes about him. Magicking Draco’s shoes off and putting the tea tray beside him on the bed.

“You eat, or I will be telling Miss Pansy or Mr. Greg.”

“I will, thank you.”

Olta pauses and gives Harry a long evaluating look. Making him feel suddenly on trial. The elf pops up on the bed beside Draco, barely making an imprint as she leans in to whisper in Draco’s ear. Small hand resting on his boyfriend’s arm.

Draco jolts a bit at whatever she has said. “No, nothing like that. You needn’t ever worry about that happening – not with him.” He dissuades matter-of-factly.

Olta nods and places a small foodstuff in Draco’s free hand, “I am near if you need.” She says and pops away.

Harry has no idea what just happened. “What was that about?” He asks curiously.

Draco nibbles a bit at his snack, before putting it back down on the plate. “She thought you might have hurt me.”

“The hell?” Harry swears, completely distracted. The idea horrifying. “I would never.”

“I told her.”

Harry feels wrong-footed. Unsure. He clears his throat. “Since we started - have you ever thought I –

“No.” Draco cuts him off, shaking his head. “Never.”

Harry goes around the foot of the bed and kneels in front of his boyfriend. “I need to apologize.”

“What in Circe’s name for?” Draco questions, tired expression filled with surprise. This was the most exhausted he's seen Draco since they began dating. His clothing was still crisp from work, but his shoulders were slumped and features vulnerable. Draco’s hair was no longer staying combed back either, loose strands falling forward.

“You were put in an ugly position because of me.” Harry states, considering all that occurred and putting a hand on Draco’s knee. “I should have protected you. I will do more to make sure my work doesn't repercussions for you again.”

“You did protect me.” Draco counters quietly. “You were there.”

“It wasn’t enough.” Harry replies. 

“It was for me.” Draco argues, closing his eyes where he sits.

Harry grimaces. His boyfriend deserved more from him. Ginny never had to go through anything like what just happened. The whole thing was ridiculous. A flimsy excuse for someone to torment them. “Draco,” He says slowly.

“There are always consequences, Harry.” Draco interrupts, getting Harry’s attention. Eyes still shut. “Did you really think I would be allowed anywhere near _you_ or the children without a big upset?”

“Not from the ministry.” Harry answers earnestly. “Not like this. It never should have gotten so far as it did today.”

“Please just,” Draco stops, taking a deep breath, chest rising and opening his eyes again. Gazing sadly at Harry. “Please let’s just go to sleep. I can’t talk about this anymore right now.”

“All right, that’s okay. We can do that.” Harry agrees readily. He can take care of Draco now and they can discuss this later. He can do that for him.

The afternoon sun filters in through the curtains as Harry lays down next to Draco, dressed only in his pants. His boyfriend stripped down to an undershirt and his pants as well. Allowing Harry to curl around him with little fuss. Harry is okay with admitting he likes to share a bed. Likes having someone next to him. He knows a lot of people do not. He has heard complaints of hogging covers and cold feet. But that never bothered him. It wasn't fair to compare Ginny and Draco, he knew that, but Draco was generally more accommodating to his preference to hold someone while he's sleeping. Harry felt warm and secure then. Not unlike one of his children with their favorite stuffies at bedtime.

He wakes to a dark flat hours later. The light under the master bath door is on. Hears water running from a tap. When he reaches across the bed to where Draco laid it's cold. It is this, more than anything, that propels him to the bathroom door. Stopping uncertainly outside of it. There is a muffled sound from inside.

It's probably the wrong choice, but he cracks the door open to peer inside. Feeling worried. He finds Draco tucked in the empty space between the counter and the tub. Knees bent under his chin. Hand gripped in his hair, making it a mess. The tap of the tub issuing a steady stream of water.

Draco is crying.

The moment his boyfriend sees Harry he turns his head to the wall. Shoulders twitching once. Draco isn't making any noise. Harry wonders why the tap is on if it was not to cover the sounds of someone crying.

“I was worried.” Harry whispers moving to sit on the fluffy, blue rug Draco had in there. He pulls idly at the material, waiting to see if his boyfriend would respond. They are quiet for a long time. He watches the tap run and wonders about apologizing. He has been doing that a lot with Draco in the last 24 hours.

“I like bathrooms.” Draco says suddenly. Still facing away from Harry. “The sound of running water always comforted me. So I hid in them all the time as a child when I was upset. Thought no one could disturb me there. I was not allowed to be upset; you see – not with my parents at any rate. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Harry replies. Thinking back to the terrified teenager he discovered crying in the boy’s bathroom all those years ago. Pale and scared.

“Father hated it. Said it was queer to hide in them. I didn’t know what he meant for the longest time, not until one of the older Rosier boys was talking about faggots going to tearooms and the like.”

“That doesn’t make you queer.”

“Of course not, liking cock does.” Draco retorts, laughing in a hysterical burst, then quieting. The man turns his face back to Harry, resting his head on his knees, tears sliding slowly down his face. Eyes puffy from crying. They stare at each other for a while. Sitting in the stillness.

“It hurt you what happened.” Draco comments softly.

Harry doesn't need to ask to what Draco is referring to. “It did." He admits. "I thought I planned for every eventuality. I thought I could protect you, but I was wrong. I was stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“Can I have that in writing?” Harry jokes with a wane smile, reaching out to rest his palm on Draco’s cheek. Wiping away a tear with his thumb. “I know several of our old professors would be amazed to see that.”

“Why do you do it, Harry?” Draco asks, voice rough. Grey eyes considering. “Don’t get me wrong, I love being with you - I don’t have the strength to deny it - but what is in it for you? I bring so much trouble to your life - even when I try not to.”

“You know me.” Harry responds sincerely with a shrug. “You know the worst bits of me that people don’t like to acknowledge. They like the hero. They want the hero. You want the person. At least, I believe you do. And,” He pauses here, taking Draco’s left arm carefully in his hand, turning it so the faded silver-grey dark mark can be seen. Tracing his fingertips over it. Draco is cool to the touch. Harry’s hand feels hot in comparison.

“Everything about you sets me on fire.” Harry confesses, chest tight with emotion. He wants to get this right. “It’s always been like that for me when it comes to you. I was either going to love or hate you. There is no in between for me, Draco. Not when it comes to you. I know that now. My feelings for you . . . are a lot. I want every bit of you. I want you to be mine whether it's good or bad.”

“But so much of it is bad though, Harry.” Draco says miserably. “I’m trying so hard to be a good person. I _want_ to be a good person. I want to help people, but it will never erase the things I did. The people I’ve hurt. That's a permanent stain.”

“So much of me is bad too.” He counters. Willing Draco to understand. Why this line Draco kept between them made no sense. “I’ve used Unforgiveable Curses. My actions have led to people's deaths. I’ve lied. I’ve hidden things. Just because so much of that is sanctioned by being an auror or what I did in the war doesn’t mean I didn’t do it. That it wasn't cruel or wrong.”

There's another pause. He hopes Draco will hear him.

Draco’s other arm slowly moves to the lip of the tub, turning himself so he can unfold his legs, facing Harry. It's not the right time. Harry understands this logically, but Draco looks attractive rumpled as he is in his underthings. White blonde hair sticking out in all directions, short as it is. He likes Draco messy; he thinks. Looking Draco up and down from the pads of his long feet to the tips of his hair.

“Shut up.” Draco snaps obviously catching Harry checking him out, but it lacks heat.

“I didn’t say anything.” Harry rebuts cheekily, grabbing Draco by the hips and pulling him so they are both sitting on the rug. Two silly men sitting on a blue rug in the middle of the loo.

“I’m not saying you’re right.” Draco concedes with a frown.

“But you _are_ saying I’m not stupid.”

Draco gives him an unimpressed expression. Harry grins. Watching Draco bite the corner of his lower lip then bring his hands up to frame Harry’s face. Cool hands easing away the tension Harry is carrying. Harry covers them with his own.

“You really want me?” Draco wonders aloud. Face soft.

“Yes.”

“The ministry, your best friend, all that and more to come, yet you still want me.”

“ _Yes._ ” Harry repeats for emphasis, grinning wider. Feeling the affection in his chest expand. The intensity of it.

They lean in to each other to kiss. An automatic action on Harry's part from being near his boyfriend. The sensation of their lips touching filling him with a sense of comfort and excitement. His boyfriend breaks the kiss after a long moment, keeping close.

“I want you too.” Draco whispers.

-

“DRACO!” Lily screams at the top of her little lungs from her place in her grandparents’ garden playing with her cousins. “Nan! Draco is here! NAN!” She continues loudly getting everyone's attention.

He and Draco arrived at the hill overlooking the Burrow sometime after noon. They only made it a little ways down the stone path before Lily caught sight of them. Running away from Roxie and Hugo who are playing some game with a large orange ball. Lily bounds over to the garden gate. Beaming at them.

Harry can see where Molly is standing in the garden, wiping her forehead off with a handkerchief. Looking over at all the commotion his daughter is making. Arthur is getting to his feet from where he was relaxing on the wicker chair by the back of the house. The older boys are further afield. His sons and Freddie flying around on their toy brooms that fly no higher than a yard above the ground.

“Daddy! Draco!” Lily yells, waving her arms at them like a windmill.

It's been two days since he's seen his daughter. Harry waves eagerly back at her as they continue the gradual walk down. There was something so nice about being greeted enthusiastically by a child. Their love unrestrained.

Al flies toward the fence and disembarks. Leaning his tiny broom against the post and jogging over to join his sister. “Draco! Dad!” His younger son shouts happily. Dark hair disheveled. Jamie and Freddie follow at a more sedate pace. His older son leading the way.

Lily is bouncing up and down on her toes by the time Harry unlatches the gate and enters. She grabs Draco excitedly by the hand, dragging him forward. “Nan, Granddad, my Draco is here! Do you see? He’s here!”

“We see, pip.” Arthur ambles toward them, expression genial. “Calm yourself.”

Al collides with Harry first, loudly proclaiming, “Dad.” Hugging Harry around the waist before glomming on to Draco’s other hand. Molly approaches, patting down her work apron, smile hesitant around the edges. Eyes on Draco.

“Nan,” Lily grabs for her grandmother’s hand too. Face tilted expectantly up at her grandmother. “This is Draco. He’s Daddy’s boyfriend.” She tells her happily.

“It is nice to meet you, Mrs. Weasley.” Draco greets politely, smile equally hesitant while gamely attempting balance between Lily pulling on his hand and Al on the other. Then nodding to Arthur, “Mr. Weasley.”

“Hello, Draco.” Arthur answers, absently pulling his glasses out of his pocket to put them on. “Welcome to the Burrow.”

“Thank you.” Draco replies.

“Dad, Draco,” Jamie states as he draws near, tone demanding their attention. “When we get home can I have my pogo-go back? I promise I won’t use it in the house.”

“Hello, to you to, son.” Harry greets a touch sarcastically. “And, no you may not.”

“Draco,” Jamie appeals automatically. But he doesn't get far.

“No, James.” Draco vetoes easily. “You heard your father.”

Jamie groans dramatically, walking away. Al scampers after his brother. Lily pulls more insistently at Draco’s hand, asking to be picked up. Draco complies and Lily throws her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder like she did when she was sleepy.

“My word, Lily, you must really like Draco.” Molly comments chuckling. Expression brighter. Harry elbows Draco, making his boyfriend go pink around the ears.

“Told you.” Harry ribs.

“Draco is my favorite.” Lily informs her grandparents seriously. “He does my hair better than Daddy.”

“My goodness me.” Molly says, obviously delighted. 

“Where did you learn that?” Arthur asks Draco.

“One of my old flatmates had a lot of wigs.” Draco explains, expression thoughtful. “She taught me a few things. It became a much more useful skill than I anticipated.”

“What?” Harry questions, sensing a good story and cocking his head at his boyfriend. “Why have I never heard this?”

“You never asked.” Draco tells him with a slight shrug of a shoulder. “I have depths.”

Lily reaches over and pats Harry’s cheek. Patronizing him. He blows a raspberry on it making her laugh. Harry grins at Lily and Draco, both of whom are smiling. Then accidentally catches Molly’s look: knowing and pleased.

It makes him feel a tad self-conscious but not displeased.

He takes a breath. “Alright, boys! Time to go.”


	8. Dating I

“What did I miss?”

“The couple over there began arguing for some reason. I'm not sure why. It was rather dramatic when the young lady threw her iced coffee in the man’s face.” He updates Potter. The couple had cycled from kissing to argument and back quickly. Potter missed the second iteration of it.

Potter snorts obviously amused. “Rough.”

“I thought so, but then they began snogging again.”

It is a couple days after Potter’s confession outside the bar. Meeting at an outdoor café for lunch today. Potter holds out Draco’s sandwich and drink for him to take. Having kindly gotten their food from the counter. They eat their meal in silence for a few minutes. Continuing to people watch. The young couple are intertwined again. Noses touching. Draco feels vaguely embarrassed to witness that even from several tables away. How can people be so openly affectionate with each other?

“This is a date, yes?” Draco checks abruptly. He wants to be certain here. Their last evening together at the pub was emotionally charged and they spent most of it looking shyly at each other still holding hands under their table. Potter fiddling with the base of his glass. Stupid grin on his face.

Potter's mouth crooks contemplatively. Leaving Draco on tenterhooks although he tries to hide it. Affecting disinterest.

“I think so.” Potter answers scratching the back of his neck, “I mean, if this isn’t too casual for you. I was sort of counting the last few times we met as dates even though I hadn’t told you I fancied you yet.”

Thank Merlin. That is a relief. “This isn't too casual. We do not need to do anything formal. I am very casual.” He assures quickly. He hopes Potter knows that he enjoys their meetups in places like the park or pubs. There is something so real about it. This is nothing like what he imagined dating was like when he was young. It is so much better.

Potter chuckles at that. “I’m glad this is a date then.”

“Me too.” Draco admits, forcing himself not to fidget. It feels vulnerable saying that, but he has shared so much with Potter already in recent months. “What should we talk about now that we are dating?”

Potter shrugs. “Whatever we want, like we were doing before.”

“Okay.” Draco agrees with a nod. He supposes that makes sense.

They finish their food, drinks in hand as they continue to people watch. An older couple walks past them. Quibbling in a bantering manner. Clearly comfortable with each other.

“That’s what I want someday.” Potter comments as they watch them meander away. “Someone to grow old with and bicker about the tile in the kitchen.”

“You have strange wants.” Draco drawls.

“What do you want, Draco?” Potter asks, reaching over to put his arm around Draco’s shoulders. Momentarily surprising him. “What kind of couple do you want to be?”

“That’s a rather philosophical question.” Draco remarks, enjoying the warmth of Potter’s arm about his shoulders. The whole day was shaping into something like a pleasant dream. He had been eager to see Potter again.

“Humor me.”

Draco hums. Reflecting on the couples he has known. His own parents were utterly devoted to each other despite everything – or maybe because of it – but they were very traditional. Pansy and her husband, Tony, were at least their age. They had a partnership more than anything. Pansy had feared being ruled by a husband. Not that Draco can blame her. Greg and his wife were similar although Draco suspected Greg’s wife had the final say on most issues. She was vastly different than Greg. Muggle for one. But she knew her mind.

“I want to be partners.” Draco decides. “But I also want it to be permanent too - whatever happens. I'm not certain if those two ideals can work together? Or if I should even say that considering this is our first official date.”

“No, I like that.” Potter responds. “I always wanted someone who knows what a shit person I can be at my worst but being with them makes me try my best. It’s like deciding to grow together no matter what – like intertwined branches on a plant, pruned over time.”

“So, you would want us to be shrubbery?” Draco retorts.

“Only if you’d be my only thorn in my side, honeybunch.” Potter needles. Smirking at him. The metaphor is a bit taxing, but Draco believes he sees Potter’s point.

“Never call me honeybunch again.” Draco deadpans. “That is rule one.”

“Very well.” Potter agrees sounding put upon. But when Draco looks over at him, his boyfriend is grinning. Potter is so often smiling. There are tiny laugh lines around the corners of his mouth and eyes. Draco finds them charming despite himself.

He presses the corner of Potter’s mouth lightly with his thumb. Testing the waters. Potter has his arm around him after all. Surely, this is okay too?

“Did I get some food on my face?” Potter questions expression growing concerned and reaching up to where Draco’s hand was.

“No, you’re good.” Draco reassures feeling bold. “I just wanted to touch your face.”

Potter kisses him then. Draco has never had a kiss so sweet. Chaste. There is something about it that is captivating. It is little more than a press of lips, but he feels his heart literally pound in his chest at it. Suddenly intensely aware of everywhere he and Potter are touching. The whole thing cannot last longer than ten seconds, but when Potter breaks the kiss their faces remain close.

He feels at a loss for words but is not discomfited. There have been so few things in his life that have felt as correct as this moment. “I fancy you, Potter.” He declares, disliking how breathless he sounds.

“I fancy you too, Draco.” Harry replies face alight with happiness.

-

“Draco Malfoy!” Pansy screeches the second he opens the door to his flat. “Have you been keeping an affair secret all this time? From me? One of your oldest friends?”

“I suppose so, Pans.” Draco admits a tinge dazed. He had been enjoying a quiet afternoon finishing paperwork when her knock on the door came. He should not be startled by Pansy. She had a propensity for the dramatic.

Pansy merely huffs. Handing him her baby like a guest at a party absently offering their host a bottle of wine as they enter. Walking primly past him into the flat. Draco is impressed by how put together she seems. Particularly since he has a better understanding of the maintenance of children now. Having been around Harry’s children for the last few months. Pansy’s make up is impeccable, her clothing chic and comfortable in appearance. She is a fuller figured woman now than at the end of their Hogwarts years. Draco rather thought she was more fetching this way.

Pansy had two children. Gabrielle being six and baby Aaron. The baby, six months old if Draco recalls correctly, does not seem troubled by the loudness of his mother. Aaron blinks slowly up at him. Sleepy faced. He rubs his face into Draco’s shirt. Draco suspects the infant is trying to determine whether to continue pursuing sleep or not.

“They printed Potter’s statement. I had to find out from the Prophet this morning of all things. _Tony_ had to show me it. Here I was thinking you were dating some nobody who worked at the ministry.” She tells him imperiously. “I was preparing myself to be happy for you. You’ve seemed so content lately. Now I have to interrogate you and check if you haven’t gone quite mad.” 

“I appreciate you warning me. I’ve had rather a lot of interrogating lately.” He answers blithely, adjusting the baby in his hold and closing the door behind him.

Pansy turns on him, hands on her hips. Acrylic nails a bright red today. “What in Circe's name do you mean by that?”

Draco recounts his first foray back into the ministry since his return to Britain. How a complaint was filed that he was tampering with Harry’s cases. They end up sat in the nook of his kitchen where he keeps a table and chairs. Olta in and out with coffee and pastries for them. Aaron in his lap, shaking a rattle every few seconds that Pansy produced from her purse.

“For my own clarification, Draco, you opted for a solicitor and you didn’t call _me?_ ” Pansy remarks, placing an affronted hand on her bosom.

Draco sighs, frowning. “I didn't think you were working in that capacity at this point. Besides, Granger was already there, and she offered.” He reasons. It seemed the right move at the time. He was caught off guard and doing his best to think on his feet.

“Ooh, that Hermione Granger.” Pansy says testily. “I may not be working as a lawyer at present, but I am always available to my friends.”

“I will bear that in mind.” He responds.

“I’m lucky to be able to take time off to care for my children.” Pansy asserts, tapping the tips of her nails on the table. Agitated. “I did not want to hand them off to a nanny like my mother did – and she didn’t even work.”

“I never said anything against you, Pans.” Draco consoles. He is guessing Pansy’s hurt feelings are in large part due to her insecurity about pausing her career. “I know you are very devoted to your children.”

“You know I’ve won half my cases against Granger. She is the best prosecutor in the DMLE. Only a handful of people have a record like mine going against her and I am the youngest and the only woman of the bunch.”

“I’m very proud.”

Pansy seems a bit mollified at that. “She helped you though - from what you’re telling me.”

“She did.”

His friend sags a bit. Pursing her mouth and looking down at her hands. “Is she your friend now too? Did she know all about you and Potter?”

“Pansy,” Draco reproves, drawling out her name.

“I know I've been occupied, Draco.” Pansy cries, leaning toward him. “Between work, Tony, and the children. We haven’t been able to be as close as we once were. I knew that was natural with us living so far away from each other. But, I hoped . . . with you moving back -

“I was absolutely going to tell you next.” Draco tells her. It is even true. She was next on his list. “I swear to you not even Greg knew. Only our crowd in France were aware and that was mostly because they were far away. Out of sight, and somewhat out of mind.”

Pansy sniffs. “Not Theo or Daphne?”

“Do you really think I would let the Notts know about my dating Harry Potter before you?”

“They’re _Astoria’s_ family.” Pansy responds vehemently. “I know how close those Greengrass sisters are.”

“Pansy,” Draco reproves again, reaching across the table to take her hand. “Granger only found out because Harry told her.”

“Harry.” Pansy echoes, dark eyebrow raised. “I knew there was something fishy at that gala. Astoria and Potter were talking off alone. I thought he was there to cause you trouble but you two were already a pair by then, weren’t you?”

Draco laughs lightly at that. Pansy looks questioningly at him. “We were.” Draco answers honestly. “In an astounding turn of events, we were.”

“He better be treating you right.”

“He is.” Draco confirms, smiling softly. He still found himself astonished to have a boyfriend. Harry had filled his life in places he never knew he was lonely in.

“Merlin, look at you.” Pansy comments scathingly.

“Excuse me?”

“That soppy look on your face.” Pansy informs him, resting her cheek on her hand. “I never took you for a romantic. Never seemed your style.”

“I suppose I never had the opportunity to find out until now.” He responds. Aaron shakes the rattle again, drawing their attention.

“What’s it like – between you two?” Pansy questions after a moment. Expression inquisitive. Draco is fleetingly reminded of a similar conversation between them. Years ago now, where he asked her the same about seeing Tony.

“We – Harry and I – it's serious.” He states. Reflective. “I think we are going to be together for a long time. I-I love him.”

It is the first time he has said it aloud. A part of him had been afraid of jinxing it if he did. Like it would be ripped out from under him if he acknowledged a wish. Especially one this selfish. 

“Then for your sake, I hope it works out.” Pansy says quietly. Eyes softening at Draco’s admission. “Love isn’t easy. I know it cannot be easy with everything that has happened between you two. However, I also know you and – I’d like to think – enough about him. You two are both stubborn men who fight for what they want.”

Draco nods. Thinking over her words. They were not untrue. It was comforting to him that Harry tended toward the right path like true north. Harry was far from perfect, he knew that well, but Draco trusted his judgement above his own. Particularly in regards of the heart.

“Do you get along with his children? His middle one is in Gabby’s class. He talks a lot, but he seems sweet.”

“Mostly.” Draco replies. “I enjoy being around them. They can be trying at times, but nothing horrible. They're good children. I like them. Albus and Lily like me. They’ve said as much, but I am not so certain about James.”

“Potter’s oldest?”

“Yes, he and I never seem to mesh quite right. We do not argue and he isn’t rude to me, but – oh, I don’t know." He breaks off, frowning. "Part of me believes he resents me.” He shares.

“Is he very close to his mother?” Pansy asks.

Draco nods. “He talks about her frequently, but that might also be because he loves quidditch and she is a coach.” He explains. James was mad for quidditch. The few conversations they did have typically focused on that very subject. He sometimes wondered if James loved the sport so much because it made him feel connected to his mother.

“He’s young, Draco. I bet he will come around to you.” Pansy advises. “After all, he may still be adjusting to his father dating.”

“Maybe.” He allows. It was possible.

“Let me know if you want to go on a double date with me and Tony. I promise to play nice.” Pansy offers, dark eyes twinkling with mirth.

“You’re always nice, Pans.” Draco says fondly with just a touch of sarcasm.

Pansy cackles. Aaron shakes his rattle.

-

Draco is quick to admit he enjoys structure and routine. He is a creature of habit. It is easy – almost too easy – to fall into step with the Potter household’s routine. He and Harry spend nearly every night together. He stops thinking about it after a while. If the children are with Weasleys, they stay at his flat. Otherwise, he is at Grimmauld. The children even come to expect him there. Albus and Lily asking where he was if he runs behind schedule.

Their mornings are spent together. Much of their free time really and he enjoys it. He keeps waiting for when he grows tired of Harry or the children. He has lived with people before. It is normal to be irritated with them from time to time. This happens with the Potters – sort of. Draco is given free reign of Grimmauld’s library. The desk Harry keeps in there is converted to Draco’s personal use. He goes there if he wants to work or have some time apart but not wanting to go back to his flat. Various Potters popping in and out. The children have been cautioned that when Draco is at his desk, they are to treat the space like Harry’s study: a work space.

The day is winding down and the children are in their pajamas ready for their bedtime story. Draco has found he appreciates this time with the children. James even seems interested by the stories. They pack them off to bed. Him hanging back as Harry tucks them in. More and more becoming part of their routine.

It does not matter what Draco does that day whether he works at the clinic or the manor, he ends it with Harry. There is something lovely about having people to be around once done with the day’s activities. They have only been dating for several months. He reminds himself of that sometimes when he finds himself unsure of his place in Harry’s life.

“You should just move in.”

Draco is in the walk-in master closet. Checking what clothing is here. It seems like half his wardrobe has migrated to Grimmauld. He would say the same of Harry’s if his was not a fraction of Draco’s. It was hardly his fault that he had good taste in clothing. He was fortunate that Harry accepted the occasional clothing item Draco bought for him.

Harry is eating an apple as a late-night snack. Taking a loud bite and chewing. Watching Draco process what he said from the entryway of the closet.

“Is that proper?”

“I don’t know,” Harry retorts after swallowing. “Is what you did to me last night proper? Let’s consult the etiquette book.” The man teases.

Draco flushes. Merlin, he hated when Harry did that. He thought it so funny to make Draco blush. “You know what I mean, Potter.” He snaps, frustrated in his uncertainty.

“Potter am I, now?” Harry says, voice low and amused.

“Yes!” Draco reprimands, staring at him. “I – what will the children think?”

“Draco,” Harry speaks his name slowly, walking toward him and tossing the apple core into the trash can. “They all think you live here anyways.”

“Oh.” Draco responds, feeling off guard. “They do?”

Harry gives him a small smile and nods, reaching out for him to pull him in by the belt loops of his trousers. “Al told everyone at brunch the other day that he ‘has to knock on the door before going into dad and Draco’s bedroom.’”

“He did?” Draco asks, embarrassment hanging on. He can imagine the expressions on Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s faces. They have been kind to him. Kinder than he deserves, but he knows that every Weasley is baffled by their relationship. A lot of people were though the Howlers had slowed over the last few weeks.

“Yeah, Ron spit out his orange juice. It was peak comedy.” Harry tells him chuckling.

“I see.” Draco acknowledges. Harry draws close, green eyes bright. Draco realizes he wants to say yes. “Very well. I’ll move in.”

Harry grins slowly, leaning in to kiss him. There is a bit of a bite to it. Leaving Draco feeling flustered. “You’ll be my live-in boyfriend.”

“Or you’ll be mine.” Draco automatically flips it. But frowns, as he remembers an important someone. “What about Olta?”

Harry shrugs. “She can live here. I’ll give her a raise if you like considering this is a larger place. Plus, the hazard pay for working with Kreacher and the sprogs. Besides, it takes at least one house elf’s full attention to keep you running.”

“I resent the implication, sir.” Draco says out of hand. He was fully capable of taking care of himself thank you very much. He just preferred some assistance at home. He will not apologize for it.

“High maintenance.” Harry accuses, but it is teasing. His boyfriend connects their lips again, slipping his tongue inside. Draco's toes curl in his shoes, shutting his eyes at the same time. Harry is a good kisser. A fact his boyfriend never failed to use against him – many times.

“Want you.” Harry tells him, hotly. “Want you here with me like you’ve been. Where you should be.” He ends, biting sharply at hinge of Draco’s jaw.

“Oh?” Draco voices. His own voice going lower in pitch. How was it this man could take all his words?

Draco would like to say he has become an incredible lover. One that would be the envy of any man or woman. That may be a bit off the mark, but he will say he has more finesse now. More tricks. He knows well the parts of Harry that make his boyfriend squirm beautifully. Every inch of skin that shudders under Draco’s touch. He knows what Harry sounds like calling his name as he comes.

They have the stripping part down to an art. They are even in the closet where the hamper is located. Less mess. Draco hates a mess and the carpet in here is soft and plush.

“Get on your knees.” Harry guides Draco, getting him to straddle Harry’s chest. Harry pulling at him until Draco’s cock is in his face. Wrapping his lips around it, tongue swirling around the head and making Draco dizzy. Harry’s fingers dip into the crack of Draco’s arse. Lubed and ready to massage at his hole.

Harry is the incredible lover. Draco will only ever admit it to him during the act. Draco’s only saving grace is he does not make a lot of sense when Harry has his cock in his mouth and his fingers inside Draco. Harry keeps his head propped against a small heap of their clothes, sucking Draco in further as his fingers explore.

“Harry.” Draco whines. Rocking himself. Feeling sweat bead around his temple. The closet is a relatively temperate space, but Harry makes him hot. His boyfriend hollows his mouth and Draco goes forward, hitting the back of his throat. He tries to pull back a bit, but Harry keeps him in place. Eyes watering at the corners but breathing steadily through his nose. Free hand patting Draco’s own on his shoulder. Letting him know he is okay.

“Good to me, Harry. So good.” Draco croons. Head bent down toward his boyfriend. He can feel where Harry’s chest hair is rubbing against his thighs. Creating a delicious texture. He tries to hold himself up enough so he does not add more pressure to Harry’s breathing, but he will only hold out for so long. The muscles in his legs and stomach already trembling with the effort.

Harry is pressing in around his prostate. Draco feels himself shiver. Spine shuddering as he attempts to keep it together. His boyfriend took a lot of pleasure in making him come quick. Draco liked to give as good as he got. Harry hums around him though and he knows he is nearing his end. Every part of him thrilled at their connection, heartrate jumping as he caressing what he can touch of Harry’s face. Staring at the place where he is inside of his boyfriend.

Fuck.

“Fuck.” He groans, coming. Harry sucking eagerly at him. “Harry.”

He gets turned around at some point. There were limbs involved. He recalls vaguely. Draco is lying on the carpet then. Harry kneeling between his legs, licking at him. Draco’s cock gives a valiant twitch at the attention, but he will not be able to go again so soon.

Harry does keep his fingers in him though, scissoring around. Every time they glance over his prostate, Draco feels his breath hitch. Harry bends down to take a nipple in his mouth. Dark hair fanning out like small rivulets of water. Draco watches dazedly at the contrast between them. Dark and fair. The sensations in his body a brilliant rush making everything heady.

“You want me tied up, sweetheart?” Harry offers in a raspy voice. Moving off Draco’s nipple with a hard kiss, after sucking it in by his teeth for a moment. “I’ve got some nice rope just for you.”

“Yes.” Draco agrees instantly. Already thinking of what he wants. They stay like that for a few minutes longer. Harry playing with him until his cock begins to fill again. His boyfriend moving back down to kiss it.

“You’ve the prettiest cock.”

Draco always laughs at that. It bursts out of him. He cannot help it. It is absolutely ridiculous and Harry says it more often than not. “Fuck you.” Draco tells him with no real heat.

“That’s the idea, love.”

Here is the thing about Harry that Draco has learned: he is a pervert. Draco suspects – well he knows – his boyfriend has kinks. Draco does too apparently. They have played around with blindfolds and rope – mostly on Harry. But Draco is aware that they are only scratching the surface of his boyfriend’s interests. Harry has let slip more than once how wild it makes him when Draco gets rough. They have spoken about it a few times. Harry has a standing offer to try out some more kinks and being open to hearing out any of Draco’s. One day maybe. His boyfriend has been so patient. So kind. Draco wants to reward him.

Harry ties himself. Draco will help if asked, but he prefers Harry to have his own set up. That way, Harry is always able to get himself untied. Tonight, Harry ties his wrists together behind his back. They have moved to the bedroom for this.

“How do you want me?”

“On your side for now.” Draco directs, getting out the lube in the side table. He wants Harry comfortable. His boyfriend complies, lying sideways with his hands behind him.

It is fair play, Draco thinks, to work Harry open slowly. The opposite of how it was earlier. Besides, they are celebrating and torturing Harry this way is always pleasant.

“You can go faster.” Harry suggests none too casually.

“You could go slower.” Draco bandies back although he does add a second finger, causing Harry to sigh, satisfied. His boyfriend bends his knees up toward his chest. Offering Draco more room. Draco works him open. Zoning out on the process. Slow and sure. Listening to Harry’s increasingly loud whimpers and demands.

“C’mon, Draco.” Harry urges, pushing back against the fingers. “Please.”

“Well since you ask so nicely.” Draco replies, finally removing his fingers and wiping them on the duvet. Harry is so hard it is almost painful for Draco to look at, but the blissed-out expression on Harry’s face motivates him to keep things slow. As much as Harry liked things fast and rough, he liked them slow too.

He maneuvers Harry so he is kneeling on the bed. Bent in half so his knees take most of his own weight.

Draco grabs his wand casting a protection spell and a lube spell, which he uses on his own erection. It is truly a phenomenal sensation to sink into Harry. Draco has topped maybe a dozen times at this point. Harry coaxing him along and helping him get comfortable. The first time they did this Draco was half terrified he would hurt his boyfriend. Harry had only chuckled and reminded him of how slow they had gone. Enjoying all the steps along the way touching each other.

“You won’t hurt me, Draco.” Harry had reassured, taking Draco in himself that first time. Assuring in a way that made Draco trust him. Draco’s mind narrowing down to the nerves in his cock and how fantastic that tight heat had felt. How much he felt for this man.

It is a similar, if more confident, sensation now, pressing into Harry. Who moans out his appreciation.

“Merlin, fuck, Draco.”

“Yeah.” Draco concurs, panting as he holds himself still. Careful to wait for Harry’s permission.

“C’mon then.” Harry prompts, pushing back at him. 

Draco does not need to be told twice. He can last longer since he has come once tonight. He wants Harry to feel him in the morning. Draco digs his fingers into the sides of Harry’s hips. Every part of him working rhythmically at fucking him. Harry makes an abortive twist, groaning in frustration and arousal. Draco is familiar with that sound.

“Fuck me, Draco.” Harry grounds out, sounding lost in it.

“Harry,” He groans, feeling himself fraying at the edges of rational thought. Moving forward, forward, forward. Pushing his boyfriend roughly so the crown of his head bumps against the headboard, body tilted toward it. Chest meeting Harry’s tied hands, grasping at the air. It lasts like that for some time. Them moving and groaning against each other. He can tell when Harry gets close because the bed itself begins to shake from more than just them and the bedside light flickers off and on. Accidental magic was easier to draw out of Harry when he was tied up, they had found.

He once heard orgasming described as a marathon to jump off a cliff. Draco had always thought that sounded odd even after he had had a few of them with other blokes. But he knows what it means now. Everything is tensed up in him, a coil ready to spring, body working as hard as Harry’s when his boyfriend comes. Hole clenching spasmodically and pushing Draco over the edge. It is like the whoosh of wind when first taking flight intensified tenfold into euphoria.

They rest like that for a moment longer. Harry panting underneath him and Draco limply kissing his back before withdrawing and laying down beside him. He reaches blindly out for his wand. Casting to release Harry from his ties. His boyfriend’s arms come apart like lead weights. Harry remains unmoved otherwise.

“Are you okay?” Draco asks, beginning to get concerned.

“Am I okay?” Harry repeats, sounding genuinely questioning. Draco turns to his side and rubs at Harry's arm closest to him. His boyfriend flexes underneath his ministrations. “Fuuuuuck.” The man moans, finally moving to unfold himself, but remaining on his stomach.

He turns his head to look at Draco, expression pleased. “You did – you did a good job.” Harry tells him, patting him clumsily on the shoulder with his freed arm.

Draco snorts. Really. But he will not look a gift dragon in the mouth. Draco flicks his wand again, sending a cleaning charm across them. He knows Harry prefers real showers, but Draco would very much rather not fall asleep in drying spunk and lube.

He wakes later to Harry snoring lightly. The light coming through the window indicates early morning. The thought that this could very well be his every morning floats through his head. It is a pleasant one.

-

_Dear Draco,_

_It was a pleasant surprise to get another letter so soon. It is always welcome to get more than one missive from you during the week. I have updated my contacts accordingly and will henceforth send all correspondence to Grimmauld Place. As for your earlier question about the manor’s first owlery, I am uncertain of the original’s exact location. I have returned the sketch you kindly made of your work thus far on the grounds of the estate. The mark I left on your map is where the ruins were to the best of my recollection. The original owlery was destroyed at some point during your father’s childhood. I forget the reason why. It may be that your grandfather, Abraxas, wished to expand the courtyard around the reflection pool. He was fond of water-based plant-life and attempted to grow crops of it in the pool there._

_I find myself concerned, Draco. Far be it for me to advise you in this, but I hope you can indulge your mother. I want you happy. I will say that first and foremost. However, you have not written about the reaction of wizarding Britain to the revelation of your relationship with Auror Potter. I worry you feel the need to shield me. Word has reached me here from old friends that the greater public is not pleased by this news. I rather expected as much once you confirmed the relationship and sent a copy of the statement Auror Potter released. I do hope you are taking precautions for your safety. Further, I hope that your professional aspirations are not harmed by this degree of publicity. Mme. Pelatier keeps me apprised of your ongoing work. Potions was never my area as you know, but I remain impressed by your dedication to your field. I would despair to see you limited in your research again._

_Sincerely,_

_Your loving mother_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted some floof in this chapter after the last one. I hope you enjoy. As always, I own nothing. Thank you for reading.


	9. The Motorbike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry becomes reacquainted with his motorbike.

He had gotten some use out of his motorbike before the children were born. Mostly during the period following the second war and the first year of his marriage. He has a series of nice memories flying solo over the countryside. Wind whipping through his hair. Arthur Weasley had done an admirable job repairing the bike. Fixing it up to its former glory and adding some tricks to its various functions. His former father-in-law was not at fault for it no longer working. 

Harry was. 

There had been that one awful drunken weekend when he and Ginny got into a tremendous row. She was leaving for an international quidditch tournament and would be gone for two months. She was still a chaser for the Harpies then and very much a rising star. Harry was furious at not being able to join her at all because of his own work and further upset she refused to come back to visit for the day or so breaks the Harpies were given. 

It didn't help that the entirety of the argument increased in intensity as he continued to drink throughout the evening.

They had the cottage by that point and Harry had tried to leave. Temper flaring, causing the glassware in their small kitchen to tremble in terror. He stumbled out the backdoor. Pissed seven ways from Sunday. Headed toward their shed where he stored the motorbike. He drank heavily in those first few years whenever he was not due at work or had some other responsibility. Trying to feel relaxed and keep bad memories at bay.

At that time, he only had lovely memories associated with the bike. Going out for country runs to taste the air. Packing Teddy into the side car with care to go on an adventure. His godson's cheery little face smiling toothily up at Harry from the little wolf shaped helmet he got him. Or the times he and Gin would travel to meet with friends. Enjoying their time together. 

He loved that motorbike.

He does remember Ginny standing at the door yelling at him for being an idiot and to come inside while he kicked the starter until the bike roared to life. Of course, this was late in the evening and quite dark out. He did not even manage flight which was fortunate all things considered. Hitting the gas and driving directly into the solid trunk of a tree at the end of their drive. He does not remember that part though. Only blackness and then waking on the ground. A slick substance coating his face which he figured out was blood after he spat some of it out.

Ginny told him later that he was ejected forward and went headfirst over the bike into the tree trunk. His glasses breaking on impact and cutting his face. Completely concussed. It served him right for attempting to drive as drunk as he was. He was lucky no one else was hurt. The poor motorbike was another story. Front end smashed. Handlebars all askew and control panel decimated. Harry stored it in the back of the shed in its various pieces afterward He thought about repairing it occasionally, but he never quite got around to it as life became steadily busier.

-

They drop the children off with Ginny for a long weekend. It's the first drop off Draco has been a part of and the first interaction his boyfriend has had with his ex-wife since they got together. It goes well enough so far as Harry can tell. The two of them shake hands and are otherwise civil. Al and Lily are keen to show Draco around the cottage. Ginny is game, but Draco has a guilty expression on like he is worried about intruding on her space.

“It is really okay, Malfoy.” Ginny reassures, smile sympathetic as they stand in the entryway of the cottage. “There isn’t a lot to it, but its mine.”

The children drag Draco in by the hands. Jamie follows for a bit but veers off from where the small group went, headed to the boys’ bedroom. Harry sighs. He knows Jamie is allowed several contraband items here that he is not at Grimmauld. But that was Ginny’s business.

“I actually have something to ask you, Harry.” Ginny begins, tapping her pointer finger to her chin thoughtfully. “I’ve had a bunch of my old brooms shipped here and I need you to take the motorbike so I can store them in the shed.”

Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Alright, when do you need me to take it by?” If he has some time he can figure out where to store it.

Ginny gives him an awkward grin, lifting her shoulders. “Now?” She says, drawing out the word.

“I don’t really have any place to put it.” Harry responds, nonplussed. What does she expect him to do? This was why he kept the bike here after the divorce. He really had nowhere to put it at Grimmauld and literally none of his other possessions remained here at the cottage. 

“Can’t you shrink it?” Ginny suggests.

“Can’t. I. Shrink. It?” Harry repeats, disbelieving. “You want me to shrink a classic motorbike that is already broken -

“You broke it.” Ginny cuts in precisely.

Harry holds up a hand. Pausing for a moment. Ginny stares at him longsuffering, hand cocked on her hip.

“Possibly ruining it further.” He finishes his thought. Feeling some slight vindication at finishing his thought.

Ginny shrugs, clearly unconcerned. “I guess be careful then.”

He scoffs. Ginny had never appreciated the motorbike like he did. “Let me see what I can do.” He concedes shortly, about-facing and going around to the back of the cottage where they kept it.

The shed is not all that big. They never even magically expanded it. There are some shelves on the wall that used to contain tools he had for taking care of the house. These days, Ginny has odds and ends in here. Broken bits of pottery and gardening tools. His motorbike is covered by a tarp and does admittedly take up a significant amount of available space. He hesitates for a second before removing the tarp. He has not had a proper look at the bike in years. 

The last time was probably after his injury when Lily was an infant. He was on crutches then and poked around the shed with Lily strapped to his chest in a baby bjorn. In hindsight, it was not one of his better ideas to take his infant daughter into a tool shed filled with sharp objects when he wasn't so steady on his feet. 

It is the mess he remembers it to be. Dented and torn at the front, tire deflated. Bits of bolts and metal on the ground. Side car only partially attached. The back remains largely intact as it was back then, but it did appear a bit rusty now. The shed did leak from time to time so that was not terribly unexpected.

He transfigures the tarp to carry one of the large broken off pieces and the smaller parts. Ultimately ending up levitating the front end partially, rolling it along on the back tire through the backyard to the front of the cottage. He has the fleeting thought to take it down to the Burrow, but he expects Ginny would only mock him further if he did that. He eventually accepts defeat and shrinks down the main parts of the motorbike.

Compromise was important in divorce.

Lily appears to have realized he and Draco plan to leave and is throwing a wobbly when he goes back inside. Ginny has her arms crossed looking impassively down at their daughter. Draco is half kneeling beside her where Lily clutches at his sleeve and pant leg. Expression devastated.

“You are only staying a couple days, dear heart.” Ginny reminds her patiently, tone even and kind.

“NO!” Lily sobs, red-faced from crying, lying on the rug running through the foyer. The three backpacks on the floor beside her flapping up and down, reacting to her distress. It was not uncommon for Lily’s wobblies to lead to accidental magic. “No, Draco! Don’t go!” She wails.

His daughter takes an exaggerated deep breath when she spots him. Tears flowing steadily down her face. “Dad-dd-y.” She whines piteously. “D-don’t leave me! Tak-e meee with you.”

“I will pick you up after nursery school on Monday.” He informs her calmly once again. Having told her this before last night. “Mummy is going to look after you for a few days. You’ll be with your brothers. You’ve stayed overnight here before just fine. You’ll be okay.”

Lily cries harder.

Harry sighs, looking over to Draco who looks stricken at Lily falling apart. “We just have to go. She’ll be all right once we leave.” He advises Draco, and his boyfriend begins prying Lily from his appendages. 

“Boys?” He calls out to his sons.

Jamie and Al appear, both with ornery expressions on their faces. Harry reminds himself sternly that Ginny can deal with whatever is brewing here. He hugs them both. Instructing them to behave and mind their mother. Al hugs Draco goodbye after his boyfriend frees himself from Lily’s grasp. Jamie even draws near to offer Draco a goodbye.

It's progress.

-

Draco is kind enough to let him store the motorbike in one of the empty stalls of the stables he rebuilt on the estate. A good bit of Harry feels guilty for moving the bike from his ex-wife’s house to his boyfriend’s family’s - whatever. It just doesn't strike him quite right even though he and Draco are cohabitating now. Harry is grateful though and it does give him something useful to do besides wander around the manor’s grounds while Draco fiddles with breaking into the main building.

He even makes decent progress fixing the bike considering he has zero mechanical skills. Fortunately, the videos online about repairing this brand of motorbike acts as a step by step guide. The main trouble comes from needing new parts and fixing the defensive operations Arthur had installed. Strangely enough, this is sort of what he expected middle age to be like. Him fooling around with some contraption like an enormous jigsaw puzzle. 

He always wanted a hobby.

The weekend the sprogs are with Gin is mostly spent with him assembling the parts and tools he needs to repair the motorbike. Focused largely on his task. Not thinking about cases at work or parenting or other responsibilities. Draco coming in and out with food and drink that Olta delivered, muttering under his breath about dark artefacts and curses. 

Usual boyfriend stuff Harry figures.

He does take the occasional break to walk around the place. It's a strikingly different experience strolling around now. Nothing on the outside reminds him of that first horrific time he was here when Snatchers dragged them in during the war. It is actually quite peaceful now in the newly constructed courtyard. Trees, shrubbery, and flowerbeds lining the area making quite the scenic English garden. 

It is a bit chilly out this time of year, but his jacket keeps him warm. He pauses his walk atop one of the hills closer to the surrounding walls, purple heather growing wildly about him, looking out at the estate with the husk of the manor off in the distance. It is a grand view. He wonders idly what the place looked like before it became infested by Riddle and his death eaters. Naturally, Lucius was still here before that time but, Harry suspects, the man at least cared about the manor.

He discovers Draco standing on one of the stone walls, guiding a hedge to grow upward and fill in the space where part of the wall crumbled. Brow furrowed in concentration as he gently prompts the plant upward.

“Did you give up on the main building for today?” Harry asks curiously. Draco heaves a sigh as he finishes the charm and looks toward the sky. Harry notices Draco's jacket is folded neatly by the man's feet and his sleeves are rolled back, revealing pale forearms. It was rare for him to glimpse Draco's bare arms outside their bedroom.

“I’m afraid so.” Draco admits. Glancing down at Harry. “Did you give up on that death trap on two wheels?”

“That death trap,” Harry defends immediately. Regretting very much that he told his boyfriend how the bike came to be broken. “Has three wheels – at least it will once I re-attach the sidecar. Also, I'm rather sentimental toward it since it belonged to my godfather.”

“Who I hear was more than a bit of a daredevil.” Draco retorts, pocketing his wand and going to sit on the wall, legs dangling. “If my mother and Aunt Bella's stories are to be believed.”

“They talked about him?” Harry responds, surprised.

Draco does his shoulder twitch that Harry believes is the closest thing Draco gets to doing something as uncouth as a shrug. “Mother mostly.” His boyfriend shares.

“What’d she say?”

“That he enjoyed causing a scene and putting himself in risky situations. Loved to incite chaos. Reveled in being the center of attention. Nothing at all like my other relatives.” Draco drawls in a sarcastic tone.

Harry hums thoughtfully at that. He often forgot Sirius was a close relative of Narcissa’s. The two were polar opposites in so many ways. But understandably, she would have some stories of Sirius he has not heard.

“Mother always said I laughed like the men on her side of the family.” Draco adds as an after thought, pulling on his jacket. “Said we all barked a bit when we start to really, properly laugh - like dogs.”

Harry peers up at his boyfriend then, scrutinizing him.

That _is_ something. He thinks. One of the first things that attracted him to Draco was his laugh. The real one and not that snobby, bullying shit he frequently heard when they were boys. The genuine one where Draco is truly amused and cannot contain it. Grey eyes lighting up. The first time Harry saw Draco laugh like that his heart had skipped a beat, stomach fluttering at making Draco truly happy. Elated. One of the few remaining crystal-clear memories he has of Sirius is of him roaring in laughter. It's one he uses to cast a Patronus charm.

“Holy shit, she’s right.” Harry says, feeling stunned. “Draco, you _do_ laugh like my godfather. You laugh like Sirius.”

“Did you fancy your godfather too?” Draco teases, jumping down to join Harry on the ground, walking toward him.

Harry is aghast. “Absolutely not.” He denies automatically.

He wasn't attracted to Sirius. Was he? No. He didn't even know that he liked men then. Although. He had looked unaware he was _looking_ when he was young. Merlin knows Oliver Wood and Cedric Diggory had been proof enough of that. He elects to suppress that line of thinking before it goes further.

“I’m sorry, Harry.” Draco apologizes with a smirk, entering his space and leaning in to kiss him reassuringly. “A little too much?”

“As my own godson would say, ‘I am shook’.” Harry tells him. Thinking fondly of Teddy, who was already a third year Hufflepuff at Hogwarts.

Draco laughs.

-

He does not often frequent wizarding pubs. For one, people he doesn't care to speak to talk to him. For another, Draco is reticent to join him. Today he is meeting Ron in Yorkshire at a pub called Farcical Fernley’s a located at the center of the magical community that resides there. It is nice enough. There is minimal fuss as he takes a seat with his back to the wall at an available table and orders a drink and some chips. Subtlety observing the other patrons.

Part of him wonders if Ron will even show. Maybe he would change his mind? They have not been exactly friendly to each other in the intervening months. He misses their camaraderie and was quick to accept the invitation Ron sent him out of nowhere.

Harry watches Ron arrive, stomping his feet on the rug and rubbing his hands together to warm them. Cheeks red from the cold. It's a cold day. Harry, himself, is sporting the cane Ron had made him today. Leg aching in protest at the chill. Ron spots him and comes over, shrugging out of his coat and sitting down across from him.

“Hello, Harry.” Ron greets stoically.

Harry nods in acknowledgement. “Ron.”

“How’re things?”

“Okay.” Harry allows, considering. “Been working on fixing my motorbike.”

“You still have that thing?”

“Why do people keep asking me that?” Harry wonders aloud. He got the same reaction at work and now Draco is leery of the whole enterprise. His children at least were supportive. Excited at the idea they might get to go flying with dad.

“You split your head open riding it.” Ron remarks, bemused. “I thought Ginny sold it. She hated it enough after you crashed it.”

“She actually kept it in the cottage shed all this time.” Harry tells him.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

There is a silence. Ron orders a drink and they sit quietly. This would be fine under most circumstances. Theirs was a friendship where two mates could sit comfortably for long stretches of time. But too many of their recent encounters had been strained. They both shift in their seats. Feeling awkward. He thinks it's almost humorous how they grimace at each other. Mirroring uncertainty.

Harry clears his throat. “Hermione mentioned you’ve been teaching Hugo to sit one of the toy brooms.”

“Yeah.” Ron says smiling. Expression affectionate. “He got ahold of Freddie’s little broom; you know. I just couldn’t say no.”

“I get that.” Harry responds. Remembering his own sons’ interest in flying. The first time he helped Jamie fly a toy broom was one of the happiest moments of his life. Jamie lit up like Christmas the first time, he was so pleased.

“So,” Ron starts slowly, eyes shifting down to his drink. “’Mione tells me Malfoy is moving in with you.”

Harry tenses. “He is. It’s – we're just starting that.”

Ron nods. “Been together for a bit.”

“Yeah.” Harry affirms. “The lease on his flat runs out at the end of the year, so. . .” He trails off at the end. Observing Ron’s reaction. His friend’s mouth crooks, shoulders hunching incrementally. But Ron does not seem angry or even annoyed. If anything, he seems sorry.

Ron hums, scratching at his chin. “He, uh, he gets along with your lot all right.” 

It is a statement and not a question. Harry takes that as a good sign. “My sprogs like him.” Harry agrees. “Draco likes them too. He tries with them. I don’t think he had much to do with children before we got together.”

“He seemed good with them at that dinner at your house.” Ron continues. It has been some time since then. Harry is surprised he is bringing it up now. He appreciates it though.

“I appreciate you trying here, Ron, but we don’t have to talk about Draco if you don’t want.” He offers, giving his friend an out if this is too much.

“No, no. I can do this.” Ron contends, holding up a hand. “I’d do this for anyone else you’d date. I can do this for you and . . . him.”

“Don’t pull a muscle, mate.” Harry half-jokes.

Ron shifts in his seat again. Glancing around the pub as if someone might be trying to overhear. In fairness, that was always a distinct possibility, although Harry’s instincts were telling him that wasn't the case now. The other patrons, scattered as they were, seemed occupied with their own tables.

“So, um, what are his intentions toward you?” Ron asks him in a whisper, leaning in.

Harry raises an inquisitive eyebrow at that, chuckling a bit. “His intentions?” He repeats incredulously. Not quite sure he heard that right.

“Intentions, you know,” Ron gestures vaguely. “What’s his plan, uh, with you?”

“Oh, Ron.” Harry responds, taken aback. He thought it was rather obvious, but he supposes Ron has not been around them enough. “Draco’s still shocked we’re together half the time. He didn’t even believe me initially when I told him the kids thought we were already living together.”

“Really?”

“Believe me.” Harry asserts confidently. “I’m the one - of the two of us - who has intentions.”

Ron shakes his head, baffled. “And what are those?”

“Nothing fit for decent company.” Harry deadpans.

“Terrible.” Ron retorts, but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards in amusement as he takes a drink from his glass.

“You asked.” Harry says shrugging.

“I did.” Ron accedes, shaking his head again slightly. Probably at himself. “I – Hermione suggested we try dinner again. Your lot and mine. At our house?”

“Draco included?”

“And the kids too of course. All of us. Together.” Ron assures quickly. He takes a deep breath and visibly steels himself. Harry straightens in his own seat, giving his friend his full attention. “I’m sorry, mate. I’ve been a berk about Malfoy.”

“You have.”

“And I want to apologize. I’d like a chance to try again . . . with dinner.” Ron tells him, truly sounding remorseful. 

Harry considers this for a moment. “How much of this is Hermione’s idea?” He checks.

“I’m not going to lie probably 90% of this is Hermione’s idea." Ron confirms. "I’ll do the cooking of course – that’ll be my contribution.”

“I’ll ask Draco.”

“How about later this week?”

-

That is how they wind up at the Granger-Weasley home a few days later. Sat in his friends’ den as the sprogs play upstairs. Fire crackling merrily in the background. It's cozy. A perfect place for a cold day. Harry is in high spirits at the turn around in Ron’s mood and the obvious effort his friend is making at accepting Draco’s presence in Harry’s life. Dinner itself was lovely. Ron had indeed cooked his famous lasagna. One of the several well-made meals in his repertoire. Him being the main chef of their household. The three of them bantering back and forth like old times. Draco getting in a few jabs at commentary here and there, fitting in like Harry believed Draco would.

Ron brings out the chess set and invites Draco to play as they settle in for conversation and drinks. Harry and Hermione share a look of cautious optimism as the two men set the board and begin a game. They enjoy comfortable conversation for some time. Harry had hoped it could be like this. He had no illusions that Ron and Draco would be best mates, but he appreciates that they are both trying.

“How is the move in going?” Hermione asks, propping her socked feet on her footstool and sipping at her spiked cup of cider.

“All right.” 

“It has been,” Draco cuts in, eyes still focused on the chessboard. Frowning down at his remaining pieces. “Challenging.”

“Is that fair though?” Harry protests. Hermione raises an eyebrow at the exchange.

Draco waves an errant hand at him as if Harry is a pesky fly. “You refuse to get rid of items that cannot be repaired and replace them with the functional things I already own.”

“I like my stuff.” Harry defends automatically. This had been a frequent disagreement of late. “Is that so wrong?”

His boyfriend gives him a disparaging look, but the barely there smile indicates exasperated amusement. “You are a hoarder, Harry. The first step is acceptance. The second step is allowing me to remove the waste. Most of the furniture in the attic is rubbish that you refuse to be rid of.”

“And your chaise lounge is so important?” Harry shoots back. He liked his things even if they didn't work any longer. Draco’s stuff was not all that great. Just because everything had a pair or a matched set or whatever.

“At least someone can sit on it.” Draco retorts. “I cannot say the same for nearly half the furniture at Grimmauld. If you would allow me to supplement what you have with what I have, moving in would go much more smoothly.”

“We were doing fine without it.”

“But we don’t have to only ‘do fine’.” Draco reasons, turning fully in his seat to face Harry. “It was perfectly acceptable that I move in the rest of my wardrobe, but Merlin forbid I try to bring _anything else_ without it being a whole thing.”

“So, moving in together is going well I see.” Hermione remarks wryly. Ron chortles in response. Leaning back in his seat and placing his intertwined hands on his belly. Expression thouroughly entertained. Harry scowls at both of his best friends.

“I thought we might paint a few walls or rearrange what I already have.” Harry tells the group, casting around for support. “I didn't realize Draco had a furniture store’s worth of goods outside his flat.”

“Forgive me for having full sets of furniture because I’m a functional adult.” Draco drawls, sounding put upon. “I would prefer not to live in the mismatched remnants or your Gryffindor, post-divorce décor.”

“Brutal.” Ron comments, grinning. Hermione shushes him, but she is giggling.

“Here we go.” Harry barbs back. Going for the dramatic. 

Draco returns the statement with a knowing look. 

Harry grins in response just to be a shit and press Draco’s buttons.

His boyfriend huffs. “We both sleep better on my mattress. I have a matching bedroom set. Nothing of yours in the bedroom or the library or the bathrooms or the guest bedrooms matches, or it is broken past the point of repair. It appears as if all your wallpapers are peeling. _And_ the third floor has never been finished.” Draco lists, ticking off items as they occur to him.

“I just haven’t gotten around to it.” Harry argues, feeling his excuse is weaker than he would like.

“Then let me help me by utilizing my furniture to start that process.”

“But won’t you need things to put in the manor?” Harry posits, searching for another reason to support his own logic.

The expression on Draco’s face communicates that would be a no. “If you thought I had a storeroom’s inventory of belongings put away then you will be upset to learn how much my mother has stowed.”

Draco has Harry there. He can admit to that.

“Okay, but your furniture is _nice,_ in case you’ve forgotten, I have children who rather enjoy destroying everything. Or have you forgotten the crystal decanter incident at your flat?”

“Dare I ask?” Hermione queries.

“No.” Draco and Harry answer as one. Ron outright laughs then, head thrown back.

“Weasley and Granger have a lovely home. _They_ have children too.” Draco rejoins, pointing out Harry’s illogic. “And if I recall correctly, the children became used to respecting the more fragile items at my flat.”

Harry rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. Scoffing. He's obviously not going to win this one. He really did not want to he supposed. There were more important hills to bleed on. “Fine.”

“Oh, yes. I know this one,” Draco says, expression turning triumphant. “And I wondered where James gets it.”

“Bah.” Harry boos, waving him off, but it lacks any true ire. He enjoys bantering with Draco too much. Sometimes their genuine arguments begin and end that way.

“Mm-hmm.” Draco hums, turning back to the chessboard and making his final move.

“Check mate.” Ron declares, clearly lying in wait.

“Well, look at that.” Draco states, looking over the board. Studying it. “A ferret outfoxed by a weasel.”

-

Harry gets the motorbike to run the first day there is a light snow beginning to stick to the ground. Half the snowflakes disappear the second they touch pavement. He rides it through the courtyard and works his way toward the front of the manor. Listening to the pleasant rumble of the engine. It is not ideal weather for a ride but the sense of satisfaction that he was able to repair the bike is worth every moment.

Despite his initial protests, Draco agrees to join. Bundled in his winter coat, gloves, and scarf. Prepared for the elements. Harry thinks he looks cute. Pink splotches high on his cheekbones from the cold. Harry would be lying if he denied getting Draco on the bike with him was not a fantasy of his. It was maybe the second thing he thought of when he brought it to the manor.

They have helmets. Harry is a person who wears a helmet now. His head can only take so many more hits according to his healer. It's not like his hair was going to look good anyway. Draco climbs on behind him, resting his hands on Harry's sides. Harry tugs at Draco’s wrist until he is pressed against Harry’s back. He took it for a test flight earlier. He is reasonably certain that the bike is going to take flight again. It is fortunate when they manage to clear the grove of trees on part of the estate, flying past the Malfoy cemetery tucked inside them. 

It is cold, he can feel that through his gloves as the wind whips past them, but he is not cold. His back, for one, is pleasantly warm. All of him pressed against Draco is. Harry has yet to see the entirety of the estate. They fly in a circuitous route over the acreage, past the creek abutting the grounds to the main house. It is beautiful even he can grant that. When he first came here months ago the place was little more than neglected ruins. Draco has done wonders to it. Hard work evident in manicured lawns and landscaping.

He turns them away from the estate over the rolling green hills that are being dusted by snow. Sun rays break through the clouds and the sky he can see is a brilliant blue. The trees they pass have the hangings on of a few autumn leaves. Clinging onto the previous season. When they have been up about an hour, he takes them down to the country road miles outside the manor’s exterior ward lines. Driving along the road toward the estate.

“This was a good idea.” Draco says loudly, chin resting on Harry’s shoulder.

“What?” Harry yells back at him. Trying to get Draco to come closer.

It works. Draco tightens his hold, leaning forward further into Harry’s back. “This was a good idea.” His boyfriend shouts.

Harry imagines that Draco has enjoyed many spectacular views flying about, but it is special to have his boyfriend to himself like this, driving along the road. The large main gates open like they should. Draco has adjusted the outer wards for them. Harry has full access. It is utterly bizarre if he reflects on it. Who could have thought the two of them would end up like this?

He did suspect that maybe the ride would strike Draco’s interest. He did think that – or hoped for it as Draco crowds him against the side of the stall Harry has parked the bike. Kissing him like his life depends on it. It is a little warmer in here and certainly warmer than being out on the bike, but it is still the end of autumn. Puffs of air from their breathing is visible. Intermingling.

Harry combs his hand through Draco’s silky hair, slightly longer now, but still shorter than his own tied back, mid-length hair. When they separate, he admires how red Draco’s lips are just from kissing. Draco has his hands on the inside of Harry’s coat, fingers playing with the buttons there. Smiling shyly.

It's perfect. Draco is perfect – well, not really, but nearly, and in all the ways Harry loves. Pale eyelashes fanning over his cheeks and mouth coy. Harry knows he is stupid for this man. “I love you.” He blurts out. 

He tries not to cringe. Waiting to observe Draco’s reaction. His boyfriend studies him. Expression vulnerable in a way Harry hasn't seen for a while. But it isn't a rejection. Harry breathes easier at that, resting his hands on Draco’s hips.

Draco kisses him then, tightly gripping the front of his coat. When the kiss ends, Draco puts a hand on his cheek. Harry leans into it, kissing the palm.

“You weren’t planning on saying that today.” Draco states, assuredly.

“No.” Harry admits honestly. He assumed Draco could tell anyways. He had more training in legilimency and occlumency than Harry did. Draco also knew him well now.

“Do you regret saying it?” His boyfriend asks him quietly.

Harry reflects briefly on this. “No,” He tells his boyfriend, grinning widely. “I try not to fool myself about love when I feel it. It’s too important for that. I hope that doesn’t freak you out.”

“I am not ‘freaking out’ as you put it.” Draco responds, expression serious. “It is a little late in the day for that considering we live together.”

“So, do you love me?” Harry prods, half teasing, half hopeful.

“I do.” Draco allows, biting at the bottom corner of his lip like he did when he was scared to admit something that made him nervous. “If I ought to have said it earlier, I am sorry for that. I love you – much more than I know how to say.”

They are two sappy men. He likes when he can get Draco to verbalize his feelings. There is a sense of victory for him that accompanies it.

Draco moves out of Harry’s hold, drawing himself up to his full height. Affecting more poise. All posh. “Now take me home, Potter. I’m not going to blow you in here.”

“Aw.” Harry pretends to pout. “You saw through my ruse.”

“I did.”

“Okay, lets go home.” Harry agrees blithely. “Back to your precious mattress.”

“Here we go.” Draco cracks.

Harry laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled: Ron Says Sorry. Another fluffy chapter before some more serious plot. I hope you enjoy. Again, I own nothing but plots.


	10. The Manor

It is true that he does not have an abundance of time to dedicate to restoring the manor. However, he does manage to go out to the estate at least once during the course of the week. After a couple of months, the stables and barn are reconstructed and the main greenhouse is back in working condition. Work on the gardens and lawn is much more challenging than he anticipated. Once that laborious effort is completed, he takes a quiet moment to sit in the gazebo with his eyes closed. Breathing it in. The smell of the breeze carrying the aroma of freshly dug earth from the flower beds and shrubs is an exact replica of his childhood memories. The sound of the fountain is even the same. 

Everything is altered when he opens his eyes.

For one, he has updated the buildings to have taller arched doors and more serviceable spaces for storing the tools needed to maintain whatever animals he accumulates. The building materials are the same stone debris, transfigured and molded together. Formed anew. He does not leave them a foreboding slate grey. Instead he added the pale granite and limestone from the rubble of the ancient, stone outer walls in fortifying the outer courtyard and buildings. 

He saves what he can of the remaining outer walls. Bending and twisting the remnants of the gate into new designs as they take shape. No longer necessary to maintain such a strong defense. Tall hedges fill in the gaps. All in all, he believes the look of the place flows better. It was rather obvious where Malfoys of varying centuries stopped their renovations. He maintains what he can architecturally for the sake of posterity – for whatever that is worth. Part of him knows his mother will appreciate it.

The most significant changes he has made thus far include a half pitch for quidditch on the back green of the estate. It is two fingers directly in the face of his father who always thought a pitch – albeit a partial one – was too nouveau riche. Draco even starts building what will be the garage instead of the former carriage house. He is letting Harry store that motorbike of his on the estate and he does not want it in the stables forever. 

The main building remains stubborn. The only progress he has made is being able to stand in the exterior foyer. Nothing happens unless he tries to step inside. Then the building begins to shake and there is a wretched sound that issues from the bowels of the manor. He does not know what to compare it to. He has heard banshees wail, the crushing sounds of battle, and people pleading for their lives; but this noise has a pain all its own. Harry calls it pigs screaming. 

His boyfriend had such a way with words.

Today is a special day though. Blustery as it is outside and about to snow. Today he has brought a family heirloom to test out a theory of his. Harry is on hand. He is extremely helpful that way. They have not brought the children here yet. Draco would rather they stay off the property until he can be reasonably certain of their safety and vice versa. The experience of having the children at his flat taught him that important lesson.

“Are you just gonna chuck her in, then?” Harry asks, tone hopeful. Draco appreciates the enthusiasm.

“We can.” Draco answers, hands on his hips as he considers the manor ahead of them from where they stand on the drive past the main gates. Harry has the sealed portrait of Walburga Black under his arm. The wooden seal maintaining a blessed peace for now. “It will be my gift to you.”

Harry looks at him admiringly, smile warm. “You are the best boyfriend a bloke could ask for.”

“You're welcome.” Draco returns, shoving down the swooping feeling in his chest that Harry’s words give him. 

It is his hope the ward the manor erected will be interrupted when another dark, semi-sentient magic like its own is introduced. If he can manage to briefly suspend it, he can enter without being repelled and get to the core. Whatever magic that has altered the core, he is reasonably certain he can charm to accept him. The core was located under the great hall. The very heart of the manor and the oldest section of the structure. 

Harry is here in case it all goes horribly wrong.

They arrive outside the splintered entryway. Draco plugs his ears as Harry uncovers the portrait and Walburga begins to howl in rage. Yelling obscenities at Harry. His boyfriend summons a whip-like stream of light from the tip of his wand that coils around the portrait. 

Draco watches as Harry levitates it mid-air and cocking his arm back, sends the portrait flying in an arc into one of the ragged holes in the imposing front door. Walburga’s portrait clatters to the floor out of sight. Her screams echoing in the hollowed-out building as the place begins to tremble worse than he has ever seen. The crack in the wall worsens, but then a gale of dust is emitted, making Draco shield his eyes. Everything settles suddenly then, quicker than anything natural. He cannot even hear her ranting anymore.

After a pregnant pause, Harry breaks into a jig beside him. “Take that, you bloody bitch!” His boyfriend shouts gleefully, spinning around. Delight contagious, causing Draco to grin in response. Pleased he can make Harry so happy.

Draco forges ahead. Determined to discover if his theory worked, reaching out his hand to see if he can get past the entry ward. He tenses expecting the familiar barrier to push him back, but his arm continues into the air. 

He did it. They did it.

He looks back to share his amazement with Harry but does not find him. Instead he finds himself standing in the darkened great hall of the manor. Stately and imposing. Gothic features still intact. Unaware of how he got there, cold dread fills his senses. 

It is precisely as it was when he was last there. Air oppressive. The gloom of the room is barely touched by the lit standing candelabras. High, arched ceilings gloomy as if darkened by storm clouds like the weather charm in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The long table made of black marble with silver veins running through it placed grandly in the middle. Highbacked, elegant chairs on each side. The remainder of the large hall an empty, eerie space with bloodstains forever inked into the dark wooden planks where Professor Burbage was consumed by Nagini. The sound of bones crunching reverberates through the room when he takes a step, bringing him to a halt.

_“Draco?”_

The whole room tilts sideways, knocking him sharply to his hands and knees. Pain jolting up his extremities down to the marrow of his bones. It is like being dunked into an freezing lake. It takes his breath away and makes him ache in waves of sensation. Pale, icy hands violently grab his neck, lifting him upwards as his knees scrape against the floor. Nails slice into the skin on his neck. Hands hold him exactly in place, frozen to the spot.

“Aunt Bella.” He gasps, struggling to breathe and tear her hands off him.

Her mad, dark eyes are boring into him. Dilated from the darkness. An intense aura of hatred and revulsion directed entirely at him. Her dark, curly hair twisted into all directions. The wisps of it touching his face. Skin a greyish pale, reminding him of a corpse.

She had loved him once – in her way. Or perhaps, more accurately, his aunt had been proud he was born pureblooded and male. Another link in the Malfoy and Black family lines. There are pictures of her holding him. His small, chubby hands pulling at her loose, dark curls. She still appeared human in those photographs. Adoring even.

There is something subvocal emanating from her slightly parted lips, eyes darting wildly over his face like she cannot believe it is him. The noise she emits grows louder. Growing so loud the place shakes with the vibrations of it causing his ear drums to hurt. It is not any language he has ever heard. Definitely not one he was aware she could speak. It reminds him of the underground tunnels leading to the dungeons, echoing and ghostly.

She is not the one who called him he realizes at once. That voice had been masculine.

“You're not real.” He chokes out, struggling for air, and mustering his courage. Ripping himself away from her grip and heaving as he attempts to right himself. Tendrils from her black robes wrapping themselves around him. Bellatrix seems to shift and twist grotesquely, body rippling to become a dark mass that rapidly encompasses the room. Oppressing his movement in a never-ending darkness thick as fog that presses heavy on his chest. 

Restricting his breathing once more until it feels like his ribs are buckling under the pressure.

Her scream is how he remembers it. High and screeching like nails on a chalkboard, not so different than her laugh had been in life. There is no end to it. His vision swims. Blinding him. He has the sense that he is falling. Frigid air whooshing past him as he goes. He lands with a crash on hard floor. Head knocking back roughly. 

Blacking out.

-

“Do you remember when you were five and you asked me why I was not married?”

Draco cracks open his eyes, head aching like a hippogriff had stomped on his skull. It is bright wherever he is. The solarium he recognizes after a moment as the glass panes reveal the blue sky above the estate. Sun high and trees filled with leaves like a full bouquet. It looks like a summer day. There is blood on the checked, marble floor and he slips in it as he pushes himself into a sitting position. Dizziness briefly overtaking him and making the room spin.

“I told you it was rude to ask your elder something so personal, but you persisted." The voice continues in its unhurried manner, almost bored in its cadence. "You were always stubborn. Demanding – like your father.”

“Severus?” Draco calls, confused. Scanning the area around him until he finds his old potions professor. Standing several yards away, facing away from Draco and staring out the wide paned window down to the courtyard below. Hands clasped tightly behind his robed back.

“I wonder, Draco,” Severus drawls out, pivoting to look down his nose at his former student. “If you remember what I told you?”

Draco squints, getting clumsily to his feet. Headache somehow heavier around his temples. He tries to recall. Everything is fuzzy and there is a bad taste in his mouth. Metallic. The walls are moving oddly and a bright white, obscuring further inspection. 

“You said there was someone once, but she died.” He answers, shaking his head and immediately regretting that choice. “Severus, why are you here?” He adds. This figure is coherent, not the wretched attempt at his aunt earlier. He may be able to get answers from him. “I'm trapped in the manor. Father warned me the manor's foundational magic was malfunctioning, but I was unable to disrupt the curse long enough after I entered. I need to access the core.”

“What was her name?” Severus asks instead.

“What?” Draco questions, perplexed.

“That is what you asked me next.” He tells Draco patiently like he did all those years ago. Resignedly. “What was her name?”

“I don’t remember, and I don't have time for this. You are not even real.” Draco responds irately. If the manor wanted to torture him it was doing a decent job. He turns away from Severus to locate the exit to the room. Nothing comes into focus. It is like a dream or rather a nightmare.

“Lily.”

Draco stops in his tracks at the name. Spinning back to scrutinize his old mentor. Severus levels him with a sad expression. Strangely poignant.

“Lily?” He repeats, shocked at the revelation. “Harry’s mother?”

The man nods curtly, lips thinning. “You are not the only one who loves someone they would be best served not to.”

That statement hits something painfully vulnerable within him. Something heartbreaking.

“You did it all for her, didn’t you?” Draco says slowly, feeling as if he already knows the answer. He was aware Severus acted as a double agent, but he did not know for certain until after his own trial that his professor was truly loyal to the Order of the Phoenix. 

The tarnished hero.

Severus inclines his head slightly. “I tried to make amends through my actions as you are. Although, I never did warm to Lily’s child – not like you and Potter’s children. No, Potter looked too much like _him_ for that.”

“It is you.” Draco realizes aloud, awed. How can this be? Severus does not have the appearance of a ghost, but no remnant could have the knowledge he does otherwise. There were a few pressing questions he had for his mentor, but none as important as an apology. “Severus, I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. I should have. You were only trying to help me - to protect me.” He says hurriedly, fighting back sudden tears.

“You were young and scared.” His professor surmises.

“I was an idiot.”

“Indeed.” Severus concurs, frowning. “Unfortunately, as much as I enjoy our conversations, Draco, you are in grave danger now. I fear you do not even know the extent of it.”

“I need to locate the core." He responds, trying to refocus on his goal. "I can attempt to restore the original spell or cleanse it or something then. That is the only way I can escape this place.”

“No, Draco.” Severus refutes easily, tone dour. “You _were_ at the core of this place. We are currently in part of it - astral dimensionally speaking. Your body is taking quite a bit of physical damage.” Severus remarks, gesturing for him to follow and they walk to another large windowpane.

When they look out Draco expects to see part of the east wing, but instead he sees himself. Body hanging limply in the air above the long table of the great hall as if he is held up by an invisible giant who is using him as a puppet. One of his arms is at a strange angle, pointing downward, clearly broken. Blood dripping steadily down it. His wand lays in the puddle underneath. Several fine cuts can be seen on his face and neck, bleeding too, and staining the side of his jumper and his hair a dark red.

He glances down at his body – the one he feels connected to – and sees no injury. The reality of his situation hits him, stomach souring. “How long has it been?”

“Over an hour.” Severus answers quietly. Draco shivers, feeling a prickling sensation begin to develop in his fingers and toes. “I was sent here to comfort you as you die.”

“Why?”

“The fundamental magic of Malfoy Manor was designed to protect your bloodline. It still attempts to fulfill that aim.” Severus informs him matter of fact. “However, your father allowed himself and his family to be subjected to cruel mistreatment for an extended amount of time. Lucius also refused to permit the manor to eject the dark lord – or at least attempt to do so. The purpose of that spell your ancestors created in the core and reinforced for centuries was corrupted then. It has been fighting itself since.”

The part of his mind that is purely emotional is panicking. He did this to himself and worse Harry is likely panicking as well. Unable to get to Draco and unsure of what is going on. Draco is filled with dread and uncertainty. “What can I do?” He asks, desperation coloring his voice.

“You cannot reach your physical body.” Severus notes, tapping at the glass with his pointer finger. “But your mind remains yours. If there is any solution to be found, it will be there.”

_“Draco?!”_

The voice reverberates around them. Shaking the frames of the solarium violently and causing the glass to shudder even the floor seems to shake. When he was small, Mother would bring him to the solarium to watch the thunderstorms pass overhead. They had fascinated him. Amazed at the light streaking across the sky and nature’s raw power. Everything in nature spoke to the possibility of magic and change. 

He loved it. Harry was not so different from those storms. All-encompassing and powerful.

Severus snorts beside him. He is sneering when Draco glances over. “Potter is _still_ such a fool. Age has not improved him at all. Imagine, believing he can break in here with brute force? I do not have the faintest clue how you put up with him.”

“He has his charms.” Draco replies absently, brow furrowed in thought. Harry will tear the manor down if he thinks it will help or save him. But like him, Harry will need an opening to get past the wards the manor has on itself. His limbs are numb now, he focuses on taking a deep breath through his nose. Willing himself to calm. He must think.

He entered the manor with a few plans for how to tackle the core’s malfunctioning magic. The majority of which involved use of his wand – but not all.

“You are aware of my life since your death.” Draco starts, deciding on a plan of action.

“More or less.” Severus states raising an eyebrow at him. “I am not apprised of everything of course. Not even the dead are _that_ interested in the living - the afterlife is not entirely dull.”

Draco nods, observing the life drain out of his literal body. “I have an idea of how I can save myself, but it may also kill me.” Draco informs Severus, again preparing himself for courage. How he hated this. If he managed to escape, he would be having a word or two with his father about how the man was the catalyst to this whole mess.

“Your death is the most likely result in any case.” Severus responds bleakly. Reliably grim and pragmatic in the manner Draco was accustomed. 

Mordred and Morgana, how he had missed him. Morbid, dry personality and all. Severus had been one of the few constants in his life. A calming, sane opinion in the rarefied world he was raised in. Checking his enormous, unearned ego more than once where other adults let him run amok. Draco had admired Severus all the more when he finally struck out on his own. Going against the current. Defying his parents' expectations.

“You may join me in the hereafter in a moment or two, Draco," The man tells him solemnly. "But, I ought to mention that you have made your teacher inordinately proud. You are the only child I watched grow to adulthood from infancy. I have been pleased to witness your good works in this world – even if all that ends here today.”

“Severus,” Draco responds, touched. He would probably feel more emotional if it were not for the mounting imminent risk to his life. “I’ve never known you to be so sentimental.”

“One’s death can do that.”

-

The fire is what wakes him first. Sparks catching around him. Indicating to him that he has succeeded in this first step. The odor of burning debris and hair burns his nostrils. He hates fire. Hated it ever since being nearly consumed by Fiendfyre when he was seventeen. Still has nightmares about it. Waking in fright thinking that a wave of intense heat is about to overtake him.

There is a burst of pain. He expected it but despite that he is distracted by the hurt and weakness in his body. His right arm is entirely useless due to the break. Numb. His other limbs leaden from being hung aloft for so long. Blood pooling. He has minimal control as his body morphs into his animagus form. Triggered as it was by his conscious thought. Sinew and bones transforming into his avian form. Leaving his right wing defective as he tries to get his bearings. 

It had been a laugh that he should look like this. An offense to nature.

Harry thought he was beautiful.

“I’m going to teach you how to produce a Patronus if it’s the last thing I do.” Harry had told him, awestruck as he carded his fingers through Draco’s feathers that first time his boyfriend saw him transformed. It had felt lovely to be caressed like that. Astoria had given him a few pats on the head before in this form, but nothing so nice. 

Draco had had a lot of free time on his hands once he began working as a potion maker after he earned his mastery certifications. Relegated to an entry position far beneath his academic and practical experience. Nevertheless, it was a job and it was work he enjoyed. Even so, he was used to studying or lab work when left to his own devices. Becoming an animagus seemed an impossible challenge. One that would keep him occupied in the meantime.

He had done it because he wanted to prove he could. He wanted a trick up his sleeve for the next time aurors inevitably came knocking down his door trying to take him to Azkaban. He wanted to be free. Peter Pettigrew managed a slice of freedom as a rat for over a decade. Draco had wanted that insurance. He was not so proud by then. Any animal would do. Ideally anything easily forgotten or left in the background. Quick to get away unnoticed. He hoped to be a moth or a housefly or even a ferret. 

Lo and behold he had to turn into something that would always be noticed. Ruining his grand plan. It was not to be. Instead he had to be a bloody phoenix. Stark white as any of the Malfoy menagerie of animals he grew up around. Despite this disappointment, there were a few times it had been useful to be able to transform into this particular bird. Phoenix fire, even fire produced in animagus form, was capable of cleansing dark magic.

“DRACO!”

He hears a boom as loud as a canon. Shaking him abruptly. There is fire everywhere around him now. Eating through the dusty, floor length curtains in the great hall and climbing the arches to the top of the ceiling. Cracks along the walls facing the outside of the manor let in fading afternoon light, growing with each boom as if a battering ram were striking the structure. He needs to move. Fire may not be able to burn him in this form, but it could burn Harry. He flops to the floor from the table where he landed. Utterly graceless and frail in this state.

The calls he makes are raspy and he doubts they can be heard over the sounds of the groaning building. The dark, wooden slats of the floor are peeling upward. Splintering in the fire. He peers through the smoke where the floor opens to the foundation underneath. Light from the fire making something metallic glimmer, sparking orange and purple in his vision.

Another boom causes the whole place to quiver. He hears the screaming sound again. The horrid one he heard before when he would attempt to gain entry. It is exponentially louder this time and coming from beneath him. Each strike to the building causing it harm. It is the core he realizes dully. Scrapping his talons along the floor until he can fall into the open maw leading down to it. Dropping several feet into the packed earth.

There is a pulsating, dark green aura incasing the object. In the case of the manor, Draco discovers, the core is a bejeweled chest. The Malfoy family crest _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ engraved on the lid. Medieval in make. He doubts anyone has laid eyes on it since his great-grandfather redid the hall. He concentrates on wrapping heat around his chest. Concentrating on how he wants it to fix everything, every horrific thing that has happened here. Everything dark and foul remaining. It may very well be the last thing he does. Releasing a spout of flame to encompass the core fully with the last of his strength and determination.

The screaming ceases immediately and the energy changes. He tiredly watches as the purple and orange sparks he saw earlier swirl around the case – silver he sees now – regaining balance as the sickly green fades away. The booms continue above him and the smell of smoke begins to seep in to where he is laid down here.

He hopes Harry finds him.

-

The sky is grey when he is levitated from the wreckage. Feathers sticky with blood. He may have healed some in this form, but the severity of his injuries would persist. If there was one thing he was certain of, being able to transform into a phoenix did _not_ make him immortal. He could be gravely injured in this form and die. Although taking on this form could heal him somewhat.

Harry is shouting somewhere. Voice demanding and authoritative. Draco wants to tell him to be quiet – that he is trying to sleep. It does occur to him at some point that his boyfriend may be trying to save him.

A Weasley – he thinks the curse-breaker – has got him outside on the stone walkway. Draco has no memory of being moved from the great hall to here. Other faces are looking down at him in a circle, wands aloft. He does not know them all. Some of them seem young like they should still be in Hogwarts. He blinks stupidly up at them.

“Malfoy, if that is you, you need to turn back.” The curse-breaker advises him urgently, where he is bent over Draco. “You’ll die if you don’t. There isn’t a healer in this country who can help an animagus this injured in their creature form. Your human body needs to heal.”

He does try. It might even work. He cannot be certain. There is a more human sense about him now. Vision less keen. Body colder. Heavier. Pain more intense. Agony really. A gasp emanates around him and he suspects he was successful.

Things are confusing for some time after that. He has the vague notion of going in and out of consciousness. The impression that Harry is nearby each time he wakes stays with him keeping him calm. Albeit, he is only awake for a few seconds each time. The paneled ceiling of wherever he is has water stains. The smell of cleaning solution filling the air.

He supposes he is at St. Mungo’s.

“’Arry?” He croaks out once he stays conscious for an entire minute. His throat is dry and it hurts to speak. He cannot seem to feel much of the rest of his body which may be for the best. There is some restraint where his right arm is, but he is unable to look over to confirm this. He can see where a tube circles through the air and descends somewhere to his lower body. Fluid passes through it every few moments. Bringing him nutrients and hydration and removing his waste.

What a fine state he is in.

“I think I heard him.” Harry’s voice carries.

“No, mate.” Ron Weasley says, sounding far away. “There’s no way. He should still be sedated. They gave him more Calming Draught than I’ve ever seen a person get.”

“The healer will be here in a moment, Harry. Let’s not disturb him until then.” Granger advises, her tone soothing. “Have you gotten ahold of his mother?”

“Not yet, but Astoria is on her way. Pansy will be back later.”

Damn. He will never hear the end of this from Pansy.

“Damn.” Weasley states aloud for the both of them. “Hate to be here when Parkinson shows. She is hell on heels.”

“Ron.” Granger reprimands. “They’re good friends and you said yourself she seems like a good parent. She can’t be all that bad . . . anymore. Besides, we have more important issues to discuss.”

“I don’t care what the papers say, Hermione.” Harry grouses stubbornly. Draco can almost picture him with his surly expression and crossed arms.

“Neither do I, Harry. I was referring to your squad’s reaction to being summoned by you.”

“They get excited. It’s nothing more than that.” His boyfriend excuses.

“They aren’t meant to be your own personal army.”

“I _recognize_ that, Hermione.” Harry replies tersely. “However, the situation was easily a level three and I was well within my rights to call them.”

“What qualified it as a level three?” Granger persists. She is smart Draco thinks. Harry would be wise to listen to her now. She is already planning how this will play politically. Draco is too out of it to try to do the same at the moment.

“’Mione.” Weasley cuts in. “Is this the time?”

“I want to ascertain our defense now, before we get caught unawares by another oversight hearing. Do you really think Draco being an unregistered animagus will go undetected? That is illegal last I checked.”

“A historical wizarding site being threatened made it a level three and Draco _is_ registered.” His boyfriend contends.

“Under who’s purview?" Granger demands. "Because he certainly isn't listed on the public one.”

“Kingsley’s, okay? Are you happy now? Draco’s done nothing illegal.” Harry defends.

“How long did he go unregistered, Harry?” Granger presses.

Draco does not hear Harry’s response. Their voices drop too low. He falls back asleep. It is dreamless thank Circe.

He wakes to Astoria, Pansy, and Harry looking down at him. Draco can feel where Harry’s hand is holding his own. Warm and calloused. Calming.

“You’re here.” Draco rasps, eyeing Harry. His boyfriend has soot on his face and his expression is strained. It has been a long time since Draco saw Harry this way. His friends frown as one and share a silent look. 

“I am, you arsehole.” Harry says, tone careworn. “Merlin’s sake, Draco, why didn’t you wait for me before running into that bloody place? I thought we'd agreed.”

“That I would go in alone - yes.” Draco argues back, but it lacks much heat. He is too weak, and it is painful to speak. Pansy ducks out of sight and returns a moment later with a glass, bending the straw in it so Draco can take a drink.

It does help. Bless her.

“You scared the life out of me, you know.” Harry tells him sternly as if Draco is one of his misbehaving children. “When they lifted you out of there, I thought you were dead.”

“Sorry.” Draco apologizes, squeezing Harry’s hand as much as he can. Harry’s expression flickers, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, dislodging his glasses. Draco watches Harry steady himself. Feeling awful seeing the man so upset.

“You did give us quite the fright.” Astoria begins softly. Expression worried. “I’m very glad you are okay, but please never scare me like that again.”

“I’ll do my best.” He promises. Meaning it.

Pansy sniffs. Her face is puffy, and she looks as if she has been crying. Eyeliner smudged. “You better.” His other friend threatens, voice heavy like she has a bad cold. “I was just getting used to you being around again.”

It has apparently been nearly two days since his ill-fated – though ultimately successful – sojourn into the manor. Astoria contacted Mother via fire-call and updated her on his health. Mother had only just gotten the letter Harry sent priority owl and was hastily packing when Astoria finally connected with her.

If he thought Harry, Astoria, and Pansy were overly concerned; Mother is something else entirely. She sends him an assortment of care packages in the following days. Boxes of his favorite chocolates, several new items for this season, and more things for Grimmauld. Leave it to Mother to overcompensate by sending him material things. Her letters are longer and more frequent too.

He is in a sling and his cuts are largely healed by the time he sets foot back home. Harry at his side, lightly supporting him. The children have been told he was in an accident working on the manor, but the severity of it was underscored. Draco feels this is the correct choice as Lily and Albus spend the next week offering him pillows and candies to ‘make him feel better’. James even brings him tea in Draco’s favorite mug as if they did not have house elves to help with such things.

It comforts them to feel helpful he imagines. He is sure to thank them each time. Astoria stays with them for a couple days post his release from St. Mungo’s. This is terrible for several reasons, but mostly because Draco has yet to finish any of the guest rooms. They spend the entirety of her visit pouring over home décor catalogues and sketching out possible options. Olta keeping them well-stocked in swatches throughout.

Harry is Harry. Orbiting around him, constantly reaching out to touch him gently on the shoulder and checking that he is okay. It is strange for Draco. He is used to licking any wounds on his own, but Harry wants to be with him whenever he is vulnerable. Draco discovers Harry updates Pansy on Draco’s progress via text. That is irritating. Astoria thinks it hilarious.

“He is hovering.” He complains to her on her last night with them. She would be going to her sister’s next. Astoria planned to stay in town until her club opened.

“He is recovering too, Draco.” Astoria advises him. Lounging with him in his and Harry’s small sitting room in their suite. “He obviously takes your safety very seriously and seeing you so hurt was terrible for him – especially since he was unable to get to you during most of the time you were trapped in there.”

Draco sighs. The remorse he feels for what he put Harry and his friends through is the lasting ache in all this. Long after he is out of the sling and has full use of his arm again.

He does acquiesce to Harry’s request he no longer go to the manor alone. It is silly but if it alleviates his boyfriend’s concern for now it is worth it. The original spell in the foundation of the manor and the core itself is changed. Draco’s magic is not his ancestors’. It is more intentional and kind. Lacking the heavy insistence on familial purity and preserving their line. Instead, the purpose he left behind in the foundation is dedicated to protecting people and defending against dark magics. Besides, there will be no more Malfoys after him. 

His heirs will have a different surname.

-

“It was you who caused the core to turn on us.”

Father seems unmoved by that, grey eyes merely roving slowly over Draco’s face. They are in the same visitation room as before. Bare and cold with a high-ceiling. Lucius chained to the chair in front of Draco.

“Did you come here to complain?” Father drawls, unimpressed. “Or did you come here to tell me that you succeeded in your quest?”

“Both.” Draco retorts automatically, brow furrowing and ire rising. “How could you not know what you did? That allowing us to be harmed by the dark lord perverted the foundational magic?”

Lucius sneers. _“Allowed._ Everything I did was for the success of our family. If it is true, what you say, then it is not _my_ fault the magic was corrupted. It should have been able to tell the difference. Our family is not exactly known for its gentle nature. Malfoys are strong but harsh. That is our nature. I was _far_ kinder to you than my forbearers were to their kin. I only ever tried to shelter you and your mother.”

“He used to torture me." Draco accuses, past caring that the guards are listening. "He used to force me to torture others. Every time I was harmed in that place. Every time Mother was disrespected and threatened. All of that happened in our home! You permitted it by not allowing the core to fight back. _You chose that!"_

“We would have been slaughtered." Father states lowly, scowling. "It was not powerful enough – not compared to the dark lord.”

“Death would have been better.” He argues back.

Father closes his eyes as if refusing to see him. “My wand was taken from me. My wife held hostage. My home no longer responding to my wants and pleas. What choice, Draco?”

Draco stares at him. Disbelieving. “You had all those things when he first came – when you welcomed him into the manor – for months. You knew what Bellatrix did to me – to the others.” He says, years of resentment rushing to the forefront. “Why didn’t you protect me?”

“She wanted you strong. You were her heir too.” Lucius reasons. Expression grim. The worst part is that he can understand his father’s line of thinking. Lucius’ obsession with power and wielding it and the determination that his son should too. Draco used to eat it all up as sacrosanct.

“Are you really defending _her?_ To me? Mother doesn't even do that anymore!”

“None of that matters now.” Father says with tired finality. Long hair swinging forward, partially concealing his face.

“No,” Draco concurs sadly, “I suppose it doesn't. It is done.” All of it he hopes. He cannot change what happened he reminds himself. He must accept it. He will make positive choices to help people. Father can continue to deny whatever he wishes. It has little to do with Draco as he is now.

There is a pause.

“Is it true, what they say?” Father questions suddenly.

Draco sighs heavily. Unsure as to what Lucius is referring. It could be any number of issues. “Is what true, Father?”

“You,” Lucius begins, expression suddenly twisting into revulsion, posture rigid. “You are . . . in an unnatural relationship with Potter?” He grits out like it hurts him.

“It isn’t unnatural.” Draco decides on saying, forcing himself to meet his father’s judgmental gaze. Draco wonders how he found out. Father was not supposed to be given much news from the outside and Mother would have told him if she informed Father about it. He will be having word with the guards after this meeting.

“So, it is true.” Father infers correctly. Grimace enunciating his sharp features. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“We are not discussing this further.” Draco deflects, moving to stand behind his chair.

“They will never accept you." Father tells him viciously. "No matter what you do or who you debase yourself with – however exalted _he_ is – we are cast as villains all the same. The mark just as branded on your arm as mine. You may walk free of here, but that immutable fact remains.”

“I am _nothing_ like you.”

“True.” Father acknowledges, expression mocking. “I would have never sunken so low. You get that from your mother’s side of the family - unfortunately.”

"Does it matter to you that I love him?" Draco declares, completely honest with his father. Stunning the disgusted look off his father's face. "Or that he loves me? Likely not. You have been locked in here so long with your frustration so fixated, in part, on me. Do you even still care for me? I doubt it."

Draco bites his lip, disappointed in himself for losing his temper. He makes a fist at his side but then releases it. Father is as unmoved as he was when he was first brought in. Grey eyes once again observing Draco. No emotion in them.

He breathes deeply through his nose, determined. "One of the few good traits I continue to admire in you is your affection for Mother, but you would not afford me the same for the person I love. I have never loved anyone like this. I did not know if I could. I thought it was burned out of me. And with all this - despite everything that has happened - I still care about you . . . even now though you do not deserve it."

Draco exits the room after a long moment. His steps filling the silence and echoing behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Lucius. This chapter is one of my few planned out attempts at serious plot for this story. I'm too enamored with fluff most of the time. As always, I own nothing. Thanks for reading. All comments and kudos are so very appreciated!


	11. Death Eater/ Blood Traitor

He watches Olta direct the supplies around with a wave of her hand. Orchestrating the wallpaper to peel itself, falling neatly to the floor. Paintbrushes rise in tandem to begin painting the walls. Cleaning supplies bustle about sweeping the floors and wiping away dust. It's like that Fantasia movie Aunt Hermione showed them once. Everything in synchronized motion. Draco even has his wand out, removing the rubbish that has accumulated upstairs and tossing it into the large bin. More and more stuff disappearing inside. He can move both arms since he stopped needing the sling.

Jamie can’t wait for his own wand. He’d do more with it than clean.

Dad had Draco move in. Honestly, Jamie can’t really tell much of a difference. Draco was _always_ there anyways. But Dad and Kreacher seem happier. Jamie is okay with that. 

Nothing changes too much except Olta joins them too. A guest room on the third floor is converted for her use. Kreacher didn’t like that. The old elf stamped his foot, scowling and glaring at dad for letting the ‘uppity elf’ take a whole room meant for wizards. Olta serenely waited to the side as Draco explained to Kreacher that all house elves in his employ are allotted rooms for themselves. So Kreacher has his own room now too. Not that he uses it for himself. Still preferring to spend most of his time in the kitchen cupboards and pantry. If Jamie was a house elf that’s where he would live too. That way he’d have all the biscuits to himself. 

He wouldn’t have to share with Al or Lily.

The only real change is that Draco and Olta are re-doing all the rooms. Well, all the rooms except his and Al’s bedrooms. Lily insisted on getting her room painted once she saw all the pails of paint and new folded wallpapers lined along the hallway. Jamie isn’t sure what was wrong with how the house was. He liked it fine how dad fixed it up. Now it’s all different looking. Kinda like how Draco’s flat was – where you couldn’t really touch a lot of stuff.

Dad says that Draco is fixing his family’s house too although no one lives there. That it’s on a lot of land and even posher than what Draco is doing at Grimmauld. Jamie doesn’t know why anyone would fix a house that no one is going to live in. It seems like Draco might be staying at Grimmauld for good. He even gets owls here now.

Some of Jamie’s friends at school have stepparents or their parents have boyfriends or girlfriends who live with them. It is confusing that people even care that Draco lives with them.

“Oi, Potter!”

“Liam,” Jamie acknowledges with a nod. “You wanna trade?” They are in the lunchroom. He's sitting with his mates: Yuri, Ian, and Hogarth. It was normal for kids to trade their food for things they wanted. Jamie traded his veg for crackers often enough. He hated all the green stuff Draco asked Olta to make them. Like eating healthy was important.

“Nah, don’t want your stuff. Just wanna find out if you're death eater scum too.”

“What?” Jamie asks, scrunching his nose. A death what?

“What are you on about?” Ian questions, already sounding annoyed.

“That Malfoy bloke your dad is with is a death eater, Potter. My mum and dad say he’s a real piece of shite. They say your dad is always trying to save people but now he’s gone too far.”

“Bugger off, Liam.” Yuri pipes up. They did not like Liam. Not a lot of people in their year did. He could be a bully. “If you’re not here to trade go back to your mates.”

“You lot should figure out if you wanna hang ‘round Potter.” Liam remarks, starting to walk away. “My dad says death eaters are dark wizards who killed muggles and muggleborns. Maybe Potter’s new daddy did too.”

“Shove off.” Jamie snaps, getting cross. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sounds like you don’t know either.” Liam retorts snottily, waving them off with a two-finger salute. Jamie returns with the same like Freddie taught him to do.

“Prick.” Hogarth comments as they watch Liam walk away. “Don’t pay attention to him, Jamie. He’s always on about something.”

It does bother Jamie though. He thinks about it during maths when he is supposed to be doing his algebra. He likes algebra. It is the only thing he’s good at besides gym and free period. He doesn’t have to read for it if he doesn’t want.

“Al?” Jamie starts contemplatively as they wait for Uncle Ron to pick them up. Rosie is beside them with a nose in her book, hair pulled back in puff balls today. It wasn’t even five minutes after the bell rang and she was already reading. Lost cause, her. “Has anyone said anything funny to you about Draco?”

“Well,” Al draws out the words, twiddling his fingers on his backpack straps like he did when he got nervous and scuffing his shoe on the floor. “Gabby said her grandmother called Draco a ‘blood traitor’ at dinner and her mummy got real upset. But neither of us knows what that means. I mean that old portrait yelled that at Draco once.”

“That’s right.” Jamie concurs, remembering. It was scary when the old lady started screaming. She was awful. Draco didn’t like her either. He had dad take her away. Then they lost their brooms because of it all. That was a bad day.

“Do you know what blood traitor means, Jamie?” Al asks, looking up at Jamie.

“No. Do you know what death eater means?”

Al shakes his head.

Their cousin shuts their book firmly. Huffing. “Mummy says if you have questions you need to ask the right people.”

That makes Jamie scratch his head. “Who’re the right people?” He sure won’t ask Gabby’s nan or Liam’s parents.

“It’s about the war, right?” Rosie prompts. He and Al both shrug. Rosie sighs put upon. “Whenever people say mean things to mummy and daddy it's _always_ about the war. I bet that’s what it is. My dad will know. You should ask him.”

Uncle Ron _is_ in a pretty good mood when he collects them at pick up. He usually is on his day off. They go to the Burrow of course after Freddie gets out of detention for putting blow up gum on somebody’s jumper. His uncle was a predictable guy. Once they are at nan’s, Uncle Ron goes to have a drink with Grandad, sitting on the back porch. His other cousins are around playing, Al and Lily along with them. Well, everyone except Freddie who is with Nan writing an apology letter to the person he pranked. Jamie decides it’s a good time to pop out on the porch and rub elbows with the old men.

“’Lo, Jamie.” Granddad greets cheerily. His grandfather was quiet, but Jamie liked him anyways. “How was your day, my boy?”

“It was okay.” He answers, gauging his crowd. Uncle Ron has his feet propped on the porch rail and he’s got a dozy look on like he’s ready for a nap. Probably a good time to ask questions Jamie guesses. “Someone told Al something funny.”

“Oh?” Granddad bites, prompting him to continue.

“Yeah, a girl in his class told him that Draco was a blood traitor - only we don’t know what that means.”

“Well, I’ll be.” Granddad says, expression curious. “Who would have thought a Malfoy would be called a blood traitor?”

Uncle Ron moves from his relaxed position to focus more on Jamie, leaning forward. “Are you sure they were talking about Draco? A lot of our family has been called that too. Most of the Weasleys.”

“Why?”

Uncle Ron and Granddad share a look. Granddad shrugs and goes back to sipping his drink. His uncle considers Jamie further. “During the last two wizarding wars any pureblood wizard – like most of the Weasleys were – got called blood traitor for making friends with muggles and muggleborns.”

“So, it’s _not_ a bad thing to be a blood traitor?”

“’Course not. You know wizards and witches are no better or worse than muggles.” His uncle advises him. “Some stuffy pureblood wizards thought they were too good for them. It all came down to bigotry. They call other purebloods blood traitors when they treat muggles and muggleborns equal to them. You remember when we talked about racism?”

“Yeah.” Jamie replies. It had been a semester study in school a year ago. Lots of people in his family were different colors. His friends too. Racism was stupid bully stuff. People were all equal. “I remember.”

“It’s kinda like that, but with pureblood wizards and witches thinking they’re better than muggles or muggleborns or even halfbloods.”

“Okay.” Jamie says, taking in this new information. Being a blood traitor wasn’t all that bad then. Maybe being a death eater was the same? “But Uncle Ron, what’s a death eater, then?”

“Ah.” Granddad comments, frowning. “Ron, I don’t know if we ought to say anything here. Harry may want to talk to him about this.”

“I don’t wanna bother Dad.” Jamie puts off immediately. Dad always seemed sad or upset when him or Al had questions about the war. He tried not to ask about it too much.

Uncle Ron puts a comforting hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “You don’t bother him, Jamie. This also might be something you ask Malfoy, er – Draco about too.”

“But Draco’s like a teacher though.” Jamie complains. “He doesn’t _just_ answer stuff. He has to go through _everything._ Al’s the only one who wants to listen to all that.”

That makes them laugh, but Jamie doesn’t know what’s so funny.

-

Students at Hogwarts got a couple weekends out of the semester to visit their families. This weekend Teddy is coming to theirs. His grandmother, Andromeda, was out of town for some work thing anyways. Teddy usually spent one of his weekends and part of any holiday with them since Dad was his godfather. Jamie liked Teddy. He was cool like Freddie and always had a joke on hand plus he was able to transform himself to look like anyone because he was a metamorphmagus. Jamie didn’t know anybody else who could do that.

The only bad part about Teddy visiting was that he had to sleep in Al’s room. Teddy got his bed when he stayed over. Technically, it was Teddy’s bed first and Jamie just took it over after he started Hogwarts but whatever.

“This place is so much nicer.” Teddy proclaims, gesturing around the dining room. Jamie sighs. Draco fixed it up so there’s no more stains on the walls and the furniture all matches with no scratches. Draco is even making them eat dinner in there today too because _Teddy is a guest, children._

“What?” Dad gasps dramatically, taking the piss as he leans back in his chair. Grin wide on his face. Dad was always happy when Teddy was there. “You didn’t like the place before? Teddy, I’m wounded.”

Teddy rolls his eyes. “It looks like an adult lives here now.”

Draco hums. He makes that noise sometimes Jamie’s noticed. Jamie interprets it as Draco reminding Dad that he’s won some argument. Dad just guffaws like it’s the funniest thing. 

Jamie wonders if Dad will be such a dork when he starts coming home to visit from Hogwarts too. But it might be just because it’s Teddy. If Dad had a favorite child, it would be Teddy. They're both orphans. Both of their parents were killed in wizarding wars. Jamie knows that Teddy’s dad and his Potter grandfather were really good mates. That Teddy's mum was a metamorphmagus too.

They’re having curry tonight. It’s spicy and filling and oh so good. Jamie eats two plates worth. He splits the naan with Teddy and Al. Kreacher baked it today and it made the house smell good. Everyone really enjoys it. Draco doesn’t eat as much curry. Spicy foods make his stomach hurt. Jamie supposes that’s not so bad. More curry for the rest of them. 

“Gran said you’re her nephew.” Teddy starts talking to Draco.

Draco looks a bit surprised by that, blinking once quicker than normal. “Yes, I’ve never met her but that is true. She is my mother’s older sister.”

“Did you ever meet my mum?” Teddy asks hopefully. Jamie feels bad for Teddy sometimes. He doesn’t remember his parents. Teddy was a baby when they died. He just had his godfather and grandmother.

Draco gives Teddy a small, sad smile. “No, I wish I did. I’ve heard lovely things about her. I did know your father though.”

“Really?”

“He taught Defense Against the Dark Arts in our third year.” Draco answers, nodding between him and Dad. “He was the best teacher we had in that subject.”

Dad snorts. “I’m surprised to hear you say that. I thought you preferred Snape.”

“I wasn’t in that class after fifth year.” Draco reminds, then looks at the rest of them. “I was never very good at defense.”

“It’s a good thing you’re with Harry then.” Teddy says. “He’s the best at defense.”

“And the worst at potions.” Dad adds jovially, turning to Draco and pulling him over to kiss him once on the mouth. Jamie mimes vomiting. Al slaps his hands over his glasses while his spoon clatters away from where he dropped it in his haste. Lily just yells. Dad could be so gross. Draco at least has the decency to seem faintly embarrassed. Everyone knew Draco did not like Dad kissing him in public.

Teddy gets to stay up later because he’s thirteen. Jamie will be nine in a couple months and Al just turned seven. They ought to be able to stay up later than Lily, but they get packed off to bed anyways. He can hear Dad laughing and talking to Teddy from the hallway above the sitting room. Occasionally Draco’s voice comes in. It used to be Jamie could eavesdrop however long he liked, but now that Olta lives with them he gets tapped on the shoulder and prompted for bed. Scolding him mildly and suggesting she might take away his treats for being naughty.

Jamie is not willing to see if she is bluffing or not. The desserts she makes are too good and he’s no fool to risk that.

Teddy wakes them up bright and early for waffles the next morning. Dad’s sleeping in which happens on the weekend and Draco typically spends the first few hours in the library most days, so the four of them get to eat breakfast without pesky adults around. They're talking about the English quidditch league when it occurs to Jamie now might be a good time to ask Teddy a question. Teddy knew lots of things he didn’t.

“A boy at school was saying some weird stuff the other day, Teddy. Something about Draco being a death eater. Do you know what a death eater is?”

Teddy is quiet for a long moment. Enough that Jamie starts to feel a bit awkward like he should take the question back.

“Do you like Draco?” Teddy asks instead. Surprising him.

“I love Draco.” Lily declares, playing with the syrup on her nearly empty plate. Getting it all over her hands. “He’s my other daddy. He takes care of me and Al and Jamie and Daddy.”

Teddy looks over to him and Al. Waiting for their responses.

“Draco is real nice.” Al answers with a nod, head bobbing. “I like him a lot. He knows lots about stories and creatures and potions - more than Dad.”

“He’s okay.” Jamie adds. Draco was a boring bloke when it came down to it. He didn’t really play around like Dad, but he was good to them Jamie supposes. “He makes Dad happy.” He says finally, thinking of Dad’s goofy expression whenever he looked at Draco.

Teddy nods. Hair turning from its natural brown to a vibrant green indicating he was thinking. “He did bad things a long time ago – Draco did.”

“Nuh-uh.” Lily defends, slapping her hands down decisively in her syrup. “Draco is good.”

“I think so too, Lily,” Teddy tries to reassure. “But good people can make mistakes.”

His sister squints over at Teddy in an expression not so different from Nan’s ‘I’m suspicious of you’ look. Taking the last bite of her waffle. Teddy again glances between them. The three of them lean in together as one. Sensing this was important. 

“Draco used to be a death eater.” Teddy whispers. “That’s the name of the group of dark wizards who killed my parents and your grandparents. Gran told me when she heard Draco lives with Harry now. She said he turned sides at the end, but he was one before. He was there during the final battle.”

Jamie has heard bits and pieces of the war over the years. More than his siblings, he reckons. He knows Dad saved a lot of people before he became an auror. But if what Teddy’s saying is true, Draco did the opposite. That’s what Liam was saying about Draco being death eater scum days ago. Al seems deep in thought too, brow furrowed and frowning. He could be serious for a kid.

Lily whines. “My nan and granddad aren’t killed.”

“Nan and Granddad are fine, Lily.” Jamie explains quickly to his sister. She was little and didn’t always understand things after all. “Teddy’s talking about Dad’s parents. They were killed in one of the wars.”

Lily scoots back in her chair until she can turn and get down. Looking confused and upset. “I’m going to Daddy. He’ll tell me true. Draco didn’t hurt nobody.”

“Leave dad alone, Lily.” Al speaks before Jamie can say anything. “He’s sleeping.”

Their sister looks uncertain for a few seconds. Standing caught under their gaze before running off. Slippers slapping over the tile. Teddy sighs and goes after.

They’re supposed to knock on the door to Dad and Draco’s room. But it’s already ajar by the time him and Al get there. They sneak quietly into the little sitting room, tiptoeing as they go. Al hangs onto him so he doesn’t trip.

“I’m sorry, Harry.” They hear Teddy apologize in the bedroom over. “I didn’t mean to make her cry.”

Lily is indeed crying based on the whimpers he's hearing. It is muffled so Jamie guesses she has her face in Dad’s shoulder or a pillow.

“What happened?” Dad asks, voice groggy. 

It sounds like Dad gets out of the bed and the next thing Jamie knows, Draco walks through the entryway, clad in pajamas, and holding Lily who is crying her eyes out. Draco raises a questioning eyebrow at them while patting Lily on the back. Jamie thinks this is the messiest he has ever seen Draco’s hair and he’s never seen Draco in pajamas. Or with bare feet. It's bizarre. Part of him assumed Draco slept in his regular posh clothes.

“Good morning, boys.” Draco drawls as Lily’s syrup covered hand grips his sleeve. “Did you forget about knocking?”

“Sorry, Draco.” They say together. Al bows his head, clasping his hands before him like he did when they got reprimanded at school.

“Boys.” Dad calls out resignedly.

Jamie grimaces but marches forward. Draco steps to the side and goes to sit on the big chair Dad usually favored. Leaning back to rock them. Lily’s red, sweaty face peeks over Draco’s shoulder. She wipes her nose on Draco’s shirt and begins to hiccup. Draco _always_ babied her.

Dad is propped against the headboard. Scratching at his head. He’s got his t-shirt and pants on. It seems like he just woke up.

“Dad,” Jamie protests at once, but Dad holds up a finger, shushing him. He looks over to Teddy. 

“Teddy, you go first.” Dad orders.

“I was asking what they thought about Draco over breakfast. They told me they liked him. But then I said something I shouldn’t have. I upset Lily then.”

“It was my fault -

“I told Lily - 

Dad makes a hand motion like a zero. Jamie and Al silence immediately. It wasn’t magic Jamie knew. He was pretty sure it wasn’t.

“What did you say, Teddy?” Dad asks, reaching over to the side table to put on his glasses.

“I told them a bit of what Gran told me about Draco and the war – about death eaters.” Teddy recounts, expression abashed and hair shifting to its embarrassed maroon.

“Only ‘cause I asked what they were!” Jamie shouts unable to keep silent any longer. “A boy at school was saying stuff about Draco being a death eater.”

Dad wipes a hand slowly over his face. “Seems to me we need to have a talk.” He says slowly. “Why don’t we all sit down?”

They settle in the sitting room. Him and Al on the floor and Teddy on the small chair in front of the bureau. Dad limps over to the chair with the little foot stool next to Draco, putting his bad leg up. Lily’s mostly calmed down now, still hiccupping a bit and sitting under Draco’s arm, where she leans into his side. Looking over them dolefully.

“Let’s get a few things cleared up.” Dad begins. Taking a deep breath. Expression troubled. “You boys want to know about death eaters. Well, death eaters were a group of dark wizards and witches. Their leader was a dark wizard called Voldemort whose real name was Tom Riddle. They were the bad guys in the last two wizarding wars.”

“So, you fought them?” Jamie clarifies. He wants to get this straight. “When you were in that war?”

“I did.” Dad responds with a nod. “I fought them in the second war with your mum and aunts and uncles and Teddy’s parents and all my friends. My parents fought them too in the first war. Tom Riddle killed them when I was a baby.”

Jamie never knew that. He knew his Potter grandparents died in the war when dad was little, but he didn’t know they were killed by the main bad guy. Al shrinks beside him, tensing. Jamie suspects this is the first time his brother is hearing it too.

“You wouldn’t be with one then. Cause they’re bad.” Al ventures looking and sounding unsure. “Draco can’t be a death eater then.”

“I’m not with any death eaters.” Dad confirms assuring them.

Al sags in relief next to him. But Jamie can see Teddy fidget off to the side. Jamie knows they aren’t done here.

“Harry,” Draco reproaches, touching Dad’s arm. Jamie frowns at Draco’s tone. Usually Draco stayed out of any _really_ serious talks. 

Dad crooks his mouth at Draco, then turns back to them. “That boy who told you that, Jamie, he probably said that because people know now that I’m dating Draco.”

“So?”

“I used to be a death eater, boys.” Draco tells them gently, then looks over to dad as if checking for permission. Dad gives him a slight nod and Draco continues, frowning. “I made many terrible decisions. A lot of people do not like me because of those choices, and they have that right. You boys will probably hear more people say similar things. For that, I am sorry.”

Jamie stares at him. Draco always seemed so calm and together but now he seems sad. Or maybe a better word was regretful? He watches Draco take his little sister’s hand in his own. Expression conflicted. Lily doesn’t seem to be paying attention. Her eyes are shut and she’s breathing deeply, maybe she was asleep already. She got tired whenever she cried like that.

“Why would you do that?” Al asks, face scrunched up and looking hard at Draco.

“I thought it was the right thing to do once. I wanted to make my father proud. He was a death eater too and I wanted to be like him. I was very foolish.”

“But I don’t understand.” Al says, shaking his head. “You’re not bad.”

“I’ve done bad things though. Things that hurt your father and other people during the war.”

“Like what?” Jamie cuts in, curious.

“Well, th -

“Nothing that you need to know about now, Jamie.” Dad intervenes putting a hand up and stopping Draco. “Do you remember the story I told you about the boy who changed by making choices to help people?”

Jamie shifts on his spot on the floor. “Yeah, the boy thought he would get hurt but he helped anyway.”

“That’s right. Good people aren’t always the ones who get held up as heroes. Sometimes they’re the people who’ve made lots of mistakes but learn from those actions and choose to help people. I believe Draco is one of those people.”

There’s a quiet after that. Jamie thinks he feels the same about Draco. He knows more now. It was usually better to know more.

“But Dad, what should I do if someone starts talking like that again? What if other kids say things like that?” He questions. It will happen again. He knows it will.

“Try to ignore them if you can. If not, use your best judgement.” Dad advises. “Like I always say, do what you can to avoid a fight, but if it comes to you anyway be smart and stay safe.”

Jamie gawks at that. Unimpressed. His best judgement?

What good will that do him?

-

The rest of Teddy’s visit goes well and before he knows it Dad is taking him back to Hogwarts. It leaves the rest of them home. Working on their weekly letter to Mum. Hestia, their family owl, hops around the library awaiting the letter to start her delivery. Al is on the rug finishing his note. Jamie dictated what he wanted to tell Mum about her recent match to Al. Lily is sending two drawings this time. One of her on a dragon and the other of all of them with Teddy over the weekend. She carefully labels them in her large handwriting.

Hestia extends a leg as they roll up their letter. Draco seals it carefully with his wand after determining everything is in order. They open the big window in the library to send her off. Lily and Al watching from the window seat as she flies into the distance.

Jamie looks up at Draco, who seems bemused by Al and Lily with their noses pressed to the glass.

“Why did you stop being a death eater?” He asks. Dad wasn’t here to stop Draco from answering now.

Draco doesn't really react to the question at first. Jamie is just about to repeat himself when the man speaks. “I didn't want to hurt people . . . or kill them. I hated who I was. I was a coward and feared I would die one too. I had not really planned on helping your father. It was impulsive and even now I don't know if it was fully a choice. He was the first person I helped; you know. I let him take my wand so that he might live. I abandoned the death eaters shortly afterward.”

“But you couldn’t do magic then. Weren’t you scared?”

“I was more frightened of myself with a wand.” Draco says, glancing down at Jamie. Grey eyes thoughtful. “Having a wand means being responsible. I was never taught that as a boy. I thought it was my right as a wizard. I was very wrong.”

Jamie frowns, thinking that over. “I want a wand real bad.”

“I’m aware.” Draco replies, tone amused. Small smile on his face.

“I don’t want to do bad with it.”

“You will make mistakes.” Draco tells him seriously. Reaching out to put a hand on Jamie's shoulder. Resting it there lightly. “But I believe your desire to do good will guide you. I never thought about helping others when I was your age. You will have different choices than your father and I did. Easier ones I hope.”

This feels sorta like Dad talking to him or one of his uncles. Maybe he's getting used to Draco? Either way he's glad Draco answered his question. It sounded like the most honest thing the man has ever told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was long past due for me to write another Jamie chapter. This is a quick one, but I was pleased to get Teddy in. I've been wanting to work him in for a while now. Thanks for reading!


	12. A Grand Opening

It's calming to have Draco home. Everything seems calmer. He feels more content. He thinks the children are too. They had asked where Draco was while he was in St. Mungo’s. Lily especially took it badly, attached as she was to his boyfriend. Demanding every morning to know when Draco would be back. Jamie and Al growing more concerned the longer Draco was gone as well.

The usual minutia of the house settles as Draco returns to Grimmauld. A good part of Harry wants to tease Draco for working on updating their house while he heals. It is like the man can't help himself. Always working on something. Whether he's sketching a room plan for Grimmauld, the manor, or some formula for work; Draco liked to keep himself occupied.

His boyfriend's hard work does not stop Harry from squirreling away some beloved items Draco thought he evicted. Several Gryffindor relics from his time at Hogwarts survive the purge. He stores them safely in the steamer trunk he keeps in the attic. The one he knows Draco will leave be along with another storage container that holds some of his few remaining items from childhood.

It is nice that Astoria is sticking around. She stays for a few days before relocating to her sister’s. His sprogs like Astoria. Her smaller stature, colorful dress, and upbeat attitude draws them to her. It seems like she likes kids too.

“Oh, no.” Astoria replies, expression bemused. “I like my _friends’_ children and my _niece._ But as a rule, no. I don’t enjoy them much. I promise you I would find them tiresome if they were left in my care for too long.”

“Well, they like you.” Harry states.

“Most people do.” Astoria says, laughing in her musical way. “But that's usually because I throw a great party.”

He is grateful for her help while Draco was healing. He felt badly going to work and leaving Draco at home. He knew rationally Draco was well enough to be released from St. Mungo’s, but it put his mind at ease that Astoria was there. He figures the least he can do is go to the opening of her club.

It makes it easier that Astoria insists, pressing an invitation into his hand. Asking him to arrive late with a wink because ‘it will look better that way.’

Late is apparently half past midnight according to Draco. He hasn't been to a club in some time and those were always muggle clubs. Easy to get lost in the crowd. This is different. For one, Astoria apparently hosts muggles, wizards, and creature folk alike. Albeit, muggles are limited to the general area and are served drinks that reduce the chance of them noticing something unusual. There were discotheques in Germany him, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione went to in their early twenties that were like that, but none in Britain that he's ever seen.

The younger members of his squad tell him that Astoria has quite the social media presence and that it is apparently _amazing_ to get a VIP invite. There is a line around the building to get in and he can hear the music before they even get to the entrance. Everything is aglow from the cobbled streets of this part of London to the shops around them open late into the evening. Burlesque it's called. The club.

Draco chose Harry’s outfit for tonight. It's tighter than anything he would usually wear, and he refused shoes other than his boots. He looks okay he thinks. It isn't what he would choose for himself but it's almost better that way. Draco is obviously pleased he allowed him to play dress up. So much so, Harry catches Draco checking him out once or twice before they even make it out of the house. That makes him feel good - more comfortable anyway. He's nothing in the looks department tonight compared to Draco though. His boyfriend is hot like fire. White, blond hair tousled back. Lean frame dressed in tight, dark denims and a deep forest green, silk button up and open jacket that shows off his long neck. The watch inlaid with protection charms Harry gave him at his wrist. 

Always well dressed for any occasion.

His boyfriend attracts attention from women and some men as they pass up the line, going directly for the entrance of the club. He has noticed this before when they have been out to pubs or walking around but the people waiting in line are here for fun and have no problem with openly gaping. Not that he can blame them. Draco was beautiful. He puts a hand on Draco’s lower back as they enter the club. Bouncers moving out of their way. They don't even have to show the invitation.

The place is impressive. Lights illuminating the dance floor and back lighting in the bars. A strangely art deco and modern aesthetic meshed. There is nothing openly magical about it that he can see, but he is in the main space where muggles are. It also does not smell overly like alcohol or sweaty bodies despite the plethora of people swarming on the dance floor and crowded around the bars. It smells like cinnamon and something woodsy that reminds him of Draco’s cologne. He has no idea who is performing tonight. But the energy of the music is quick and has people on their feet. Dancing and drinking.

“I want to introduce you to one of my best friends tonight.” Draco tells him, leaning in close and speaking loudly to be heard as they walk past the busy dance floor. “Astoria’s business partner, Simone, is here. The one I told you about. She used to be a flatmate of ours years ago. She's a designer too. The shirt you’re wearing tonight is hers.”

“Do I have to give it back at the end of the night then?” Harry cracks, snorting to himself. Ron would be so proud of his dad joke. Draco gives him a smile that Harry interprets as ‘You’re cute, but not funny’. 

An attractive hostess approaches them and guides them up a curving staircase and past velvet ropes to the second level. The VIP section he is informed. There are obvious signs of magic here compared to below. People with more obvious wizarding clothing apparent. Swirling creatures in bottles of hard liquor behind the bar. A woman sitting on a stool who is clearly a Veela and small groups of vampires here and there. Sallow skin obvious even in the dimmer light.

The hostess takes them through the less dense crowd to a table that has apparently been reserved for them. Pansy and Anthony Goldstein are there. Anthony nods and shakes Harry’s offered hand. Greeting him politely. He seems well. Stout and steady as ever. Harry occasionally saw his daughter, a girl in Al’s year, she was a good combination of both her parents in appearance with Pansy’s dark hair and Anthony’s kind smile.

Pansy titters beside them. Dressed in a lacy purple cocktail dress and looking a bit unsteady on her stiletto heels. She kisses Draco’s cheek, leaving a faint lilac lipstick mark behind. “Draco, you’re here!” She welcomes her friend loudly, sounding a bit drunk. Nearly empty martini in hand.

“She hasn’t drunk much since the baby was born.” Anthony mutters to Harry in an aside. Expression somewhat apologetic. “She’s only on her second drink and she’s already three sheets.”

“I’m fine, Tony.” Pansy responds, turning to face them, leaving a steadying hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Honestly, I wasn’t going to drink any more tonight anyway. I am definitely _not_ nineteen any longer.”

“She isn’t dancing on the counters yet.” Draco remarks. “That’s the limit for serving her last I checked.”

“Don’t act like I was the only one.” Pansy demurs, trying to poke Draco in the side.

Draco swats her away. “I was _behind_ the bar, Pans, not on it with you.”

“Details, details.”

“Says the lawyer.” Draco rejoins, clearly amused by his friend.

“Well, the Notts and the Zabinis are here.” Pany begins, choosing to airily ignore Draco. “Padma and her husband too. Her married name’s hyphenated to Khan now. You remember Leo Khan. I saw Astoria briefly before she had to host someone. She mentioned that Millicent and her girlfriend came. I even saw Seamus Finnegan.”

“Seamus is here?” Harry asks aloud. He looks around trying to spy him but doesn't have any luck. He isn't tall enough to see very far over all the heads. Ron had been a helpful auror partner back in the day because of his height. Wherever Seamus was, there would be gambling and gorgeous women. He could guarantee that.

“Oh, yes.” Pansy responds. “He seemed quite keen on speaking with Blaise about a possible business expansion to Ireland.”

“Sure.” Harry says not at all surprised. Seamus must have gained and lost three or four fortunes at this point. Always interested in the next big business opportunity. Harry had been approached by his old friend to invest in a variety of business ventures. He had gone along with a few, but he preferred to not give all his money away. He had to feed his children after all.

Pansy downs the last of her drink and waves over one of the rotating waiters with a tray of shot glasses and a bottle.

“Pansy.” Anthony intones, reprimanding.

“This is the last, dear.” His wife answers. “I want to say hello to Millie and then go dance, and I can’t unless I’m a bit buzzy. You know that.”

Harry gamely takes a shot with the rest of them. It burns on the way down and tastes of peppermint. He's glad he doesn't cough in response, but it is a near thing.

Pansy drags Anthony in her wake seemingly to go find her other friends. Draco takes him by the hand, and they head to the long bar. Harry gets them drinks as they consider going back to their table but end up standing there for some time. People watching. Harry introduces Draco to his game of Who’s Who. It's funny, and not at all unexpected, that he and Draco seem to know entirely different people. Very few of their picks overlap. 

“It’s not fair.” Harry complains as neither of them becomes the clear winner. His competitive streak getting pouty. “You know too many Slytherins and foreign people.”

“And you know too many Gryffindors.” Draco retorts with a smirk. “And ministry people.” He adds with a mocking shudder.

Draco excuses himself once he sees Astoria, promising he will be right back. Astoria is talking to a posh looking group – maybe around their age – who are gaping about them. All appearing very pleased. Harry orders another round of drinks for them while Draco goes to make his hellos. Waiting for the bar tender to serve him again. The service is not as expedient with Draco gone he notices. The bar tender had been _quick_ to serve them last time. Gaze lingering on Draco while his boyfriend took a drink.

“Excuse me, are you Hermione Granger’s friend?” A lightly accented, feminine voice asks him from behind.

He turns to the person speaking and discovers a strikingly beautiful woman. She's a little taller than him even with her heels on. Curvy with caramel colored skin and intelligent, attentive brown eyes above her high cheekbones. Framed by dark, wavy hair highlighted in a russet color. The colors in her dress seem to be swirling of their own accord. Fashioning new patterns in bursts. She certainly belonged here he thought. Stunning as she was.

“That’s what I prefer to be known for, yes.” Harry replies, grinning up at the woman. “I’m Harry Potter.” He introduces, extending his hand.

The woman takes his hand. Shaking it as her face lights up. “Oh, my. Of course, you are. I am supposed to meet you then. I am Simone Pelatier. I’m the co-owner of this club.” She introduces herself earnestly.

“You're Draco’s friend.” Harry says, realizing the connection. “The designer.”

Simone smiles. “Our friendships precede us.”

“I’m wearing your shirt.” Harry blurts out.

“I see that, you have good taste.”

“Draco dressed me.”

“As I said, you have good taste.” She repeats, corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiles. Expression warm. “I recognized you from a recent photo in the Daily Prophet. I’ve been following your friend Hermione Granger’s career for years. She has an impressive body of work campaigning for creature folk rights. I was raised mostly by house elves, you see. They are free in France, but not in most places in the world. I was pleased to see her introduce a bill for LGBTQ protections here in Britain. It’s long past due.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her you said that." He responds. It was nice to hear support for his friend. "It’s been a recent cause for her.”

“I imagine you are the impetus for that.” Simone suggests.

“Not entirely.” Harry replies. Thinking of Charlie and Dominique. They have been openly queer for years. Much longer than him and no less supported by the family. “It's important to Hermione that people are treated fairly.”

“She will be a great Minister of Magic for Britain one day.”

“I think so.”

“Simone?” He hears Draco’s voice. He watches his boyfriend approach, squeezing through the crowd. Simone and Draco embrace. Kissing each other’s cheeks. “You met Harry. Did he put his foot in his mouth? I apologize if he did. He is really quite nice.”

“No, I found him perfectly pleasant.” Simone assures.

“Hey!” Harry defends himself, a bit miffed. “I am a very charming man.”

Draco waves a hand at him. “Of course, you are.” His boyfriend patronizes him, still looking at his friend even as Harry hands him the new drink. “It’s been too long. Almost a year.”

“Did you get my last letter?” Simone inquires with a tilt of her head.

“I did. Thank you for checking on mother by the way. I’m so grateful for you.”

“Do you live in France too?” Harry asks, cutting in. Wondering if that's the accent he heard from her. Her accent was much lighter than Fleur’s so he wasn't certain.

“I’m there most of the time.” Simone answers. “I was born there. My designing business is based in Paris too, but I also spend time in Seoul where a few of our other businesses are located.”

“I was in Paris once, but I’ve never been to Seoul.” Harry adds conversationally. There was a list of places he wanted to visit. He had been able to cross a few off while joining Ginny on international tournaments. They usually did not have much time to sight see though.

“I would be thrilled to host both of you.” Simone offers. “Any time, really. I owe Draco about five years of my share of the rent.”

“You’ve paid that back a thousand-fold.” Draco assures with an affectionate expression. “Besides, it was a little hole in the wall place anyways.”

Harry puts an arm around Draco’s waist as they talk. Keeping an ear in on the conversation and taking in the place. The tall ceilings. People milling about. The golden lights and partitions separating groups off to the side getting bottle service. He could even see a good bit of the stage above the dance floor from their position by the bar.

“It’s good to see you so happy, Draco.” Simone remarks, putting a ringed hand on her hip. Observing Draco with a critical eye. “Astoria tells me you are finally getting laid.”

Draco sputters, spitting out the sip he just took of his drink. Harry roars in laughter and Simone covers her mouth with a polite hand. Covering her laugh. 

The expression on Draco’s face is much less indulgent now. He is glaring at his friend. "J’avais dit ça à Astoria en privé! ”

“Oh mais oublie, c’est pas grave,” Simone returns, tone lascivious. “Je ne peux pas m’en empêcher. Il est canon. Je suis contente pour vous.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” Harry comments, unperturbed. “But are you embarrassing my boyfriend?”

“Yes!” Draco answers, ears burning red, palm going to his forehead.

“No.” The woman winks at Harry. Obviously pleased with her work. “I’m congratulating him.”

They return to their table. Simone at their side. Seamus is at their table now with the Goldsteins and Astoria. A half dozen glasses in front of them. His old friend hops to his feet and comes around the table to shake hands with Harry. Eyes positively popping with interest the moment they land on Simone.

“Sweet Merlin, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen!” Seamus shouts in his Irish brogue, speaking to Simone and kissing her proffered hand. “How have I never met you?”

“Women avoid you, I’m certain, Finnegan.” Draco drawls. Harry chuckles beside him. Remembering Ron’s bachelor party years ago when Seamus got rejected by every woman he came on to. Seamus was somewhat famous in their friend group for constantly hitting on woman. Although, he did have the grace to back off once he was told no.

“Shut it, Malfoy.” Seamus turns his head to rebut. Eyes narrowing and mouth puckering like he tasted something sour. “No one asked you. I don’t care if you’re with Potter. You’re still a prat.”

“That prat is one of my dearest friends.” Simone informs Seamus not unkindly.

“I’ve known Malfoy for years!” Seamus exclaims, switching tactics to the group’s general entertainment. “We were boyhood friends!”

Harry guffaws at that, glancing over to share an amused look with Draco. His boyfriend sighs instead expression put upon. Harry kisses his cheek to cheer him up. Draco scowls at that but doesn't move away from Harry’s arm around his waist. A win. Harry thinks.

Astoria snaps a commanding hand in the air and a tray of bottles float over to them. Re-filling drinks at the table, including the empty glasses in his and Draco’s hands. Harry is impressed. He has never seen that charm before.

The night gets a bit blurry around the edges after that.

They do eventually make their way out of the VIP section after a few more drinks. Harry would have been content to spend the whole time there. Less crowded as it was. It seems like the general section and dance floor has become even denser in their absence. The bass is louder as they descend the stairs. Lighting changing rhythmically in patterns adding to the lively party mood. Designs on the wall moving with it.

He is fairly sauced right now if he is honest. That's the only way he could be convinced to dance. He can only imagine how the younger members of his squad would be positively agog to see him like this. It does remind him of his late teenage years and his early twenties to be jumping around and lost in a crowd like this. Well, as unaware as he ever gets. He still finds himself in strategically useful positions. Unable to leave the cautious side of him behind. Draco is not especially outgoing either, but he seems to be having a good time. At least, he assumes so based on the fact Draco hasn't pulled away from Harry’s touch all night. So much of this is like foreplay he thinks. Dancing together in each other’s personal space. The two of them. The focus on moving together. Heartbeats racing and an uplifted feeling coursing through him.

That could also be because they have been drinking too.

It's intoxicating in other ways. Having Draco close is usually is. Hands wandering. People dancing around them in waves, leaving them tucked into their own bubble. Everyone lost in their own minds and bodies. Cocooned by the loud music, lights, and movement. He can't tell how much time has passed. It could be hours or minutes for all he is able to track time in here. Draco puts an arm around Harry’s shoulder and Harry brings their lips together. His tongue immediately seeking entry into Draco’s mouth and gripping his boyfriend’s blond hair in his hand.

The moment is electric. A spark of magic between two separate forces filling him with energy. Harry knows what it is to love someone. What he didn't understand is how different it is to love someone both so new and known to him. Draco met him in a way he never thought possible.

Draco is still firmly against him when his boyfriend ends their kiss. Staring at him with his pupils blown. Grey eyes reflecting all the colorful light around them and a solid silver all the same. Draco’s expression fascinates him. Entertained, happy, aroused; Harry loves it all. He wants him.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Harry asks, yelling over the music. He needs to cool down and pump the brakes here otherwise he and Draco are going to end up shagging on the floor.

Draco shakes his head, but he is smiling. He grabs Harry by the hand, leading them to the edge of the crowd. Slowly making their way out.

He goes along because of course he goes along. Draco’s hips and arse are directly in front of him and he is half hard. He is only one man. They make their way through a crowd drunk on their own parties. Going back to one of the reserved bottle service areas on the main floor. A few are illusioned so muggles don't notice. Draco presses his free hand to a diamond shaped pattern on the side wall, producing a door at the side of the booth.

“I never thought I’d get a chance to do this.” Draco says, expression suddenly shy, bringing the hand holding Harry’s to his chest. “I’m glad it’s with you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a hide-a-way room.” Draco replies, face completely flushed now, eyes shifting away. “VIP members have access.”

Harry wants to laugh. He really, truly does. But if he laughs now Draco might lose his nerve. Particularly since he believes Simone just teased Draco mercilessly about their sex life. Harry has been in magical clubs before. He and Ginny have enjoyed some hide-a-way rooms in their time – not that _that_ should be brought to light now. Instead he closes the space between them and kisses Draco as passionately as possible.

He is a smidgen of an exhibitionist. He can admit that. It doesn't entirely make sense. Best not to look at it too closely really. He knows. Merlin, he knows. How many times has he changed plans or avoided public spaces in order to not be photographed or reported on?

But Draco is right here. Offering him something absolutely lovely.

They go through the door.

It locks automatically behind them. He glances over to the door and adds another lock if only to reassure himself that no one unwanted will walk in. They can see people pass by the booth like nothing has changed, no real separation, but no one can see them. 

Draco is shaking, his hands fumbling at Harry’s shirt with a look of concentration on his face. Biting at his lower lip. Harry helps him. Undoing his belt and opening the front of his trousers, sitting on the square lounge. Draco goes to his knees between the vee of Harry’s legs, pulling out Harry’s cock. Hands sure. Gorgeous and eager to please.

It's a heady experience. He gasps as Draco takes him in. His senses narrowing for a few minutes to the velvet heat of Draco’s mouth. Watching Draco blow him and having people walk drunkenly by, laughing and boisterous, appearing little more than a few feet away. So many of them had ogled Draco tonight. He was never jealous of the women. They never had a chance. But the men. Harry has always been a possessive person. He accepted that long ago.

“Fuck.” Harry groans, pulling at Draco’s hair and fucking hard into his boyfriend’s mouth, hitting the back of his throat as Draco tried to accommodate him. Mouth widening further. His boyfriend’s hand at his thigh, rubbing encouragingly. Draco would tap out if it was too much. They go like that for a while until he pulls Draco back, still gripping his hair. Saliva drooling out the corners of the man's mouth and coating Harry’s cock. Leaving it cool, exposed to the air. His boyfriend’s mouth looks swollen and used.

Bloody fucking hell, it was hot.

Draco heaves in breaths. Chest rising and falling until he calms some. Eyes far away, and the grey barely visible surrounding his pupils. Red splotches on his face from exertion.

“Please.” Draco begs hoarsely, whole body twitching.

“What?” Harry plays clueless. “Is there something you want?”

Draco squirms. Fighting with himself. His boyfriend was usually uncomfortable talking about sex, but Harry did prefer Draco communicate his sexual wants when it was just the two of them.

“Use your words.” Harry prompts teasingly.

“Your – your cock,” Draco moans desperately, voice making Harry want to come right there all over his boyfriend’s pretty pale face. “Want it back.”

Harry grins, raising an eyebrow at Draco's directness. He finds it incredibly hot that his boyfriend was able to voice what he wants. “Okay.” Harry answers simply. Guiding the man back to his earlier position. Draco opens immediately taking him in with vigor. Eyes shutting. Harry returns to thrusting into him, Draco’s tongue moving to taste him as he goes. He has Harry panting.

“You’re so _good_ , Draco.” Harry praises, using the hand not gripping Draco’s hair to pet his boyfriend's face. Wiping tears away from his eyes. “All this just for me?”

The man’s whole body twitches several times at that. Body shuddering. Sucking harder at his words. Harry does not last. Draco has gotten very good at this and he swallows everything Harry has to give him. Mouthing at him still as he softens. Aftershocks from being oversensitive crackle through him. He pulls Draco up into a kiss, licking into his mouth. Tasting himself and pressing Draco to him. Draco goes easily, moving forward so he is half in Harry’s lap. Straddling him. Hands inside Harry’s shirt, digging into his back.

Harry pulls back. Admiring. Draco’s hair is a complete mess. Strands of it still threaded through Harry’s fingers where he holds him. Skin puffy around his eyes. Lips red and swollen.

Merlin, he loves Draco messy. “I love you.” Harry croons, leaning in once more to kiss him and resting his forehead against Draco’s. Stroking at the man's back with his other hand. “You make me feel so amazing, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good.”

“Please. Yes.” Draco says roughly, acceding.

It doesn't take much. Draco is mostly draped on top of him. Head leaning on his shoulder as Harry gets a hand in Draco’s pants and jacks him off. Watching Draco’s eye lashes flutter. Breathing picking up as the man gets close. Body solid against him. Draco releases a soft moan when he comes. Semen landing on Harry’s stomach where his shirt's still unbuttoned.

The noise of the crowd around them starts to infiltrate his senses again. He performs a wandless cleaning spell, eliminating the spunk. After a few moments, Draco tucks them both back in their own pants. Movements slow. A stark contrast to the frenetic energy when they first arrived in the hide-a-way.

Draco presses a kiss to Harry’s exposed collar bone as the tips of his fingers trail upward, scratching lightly at Harry’s chest.

“I liked this a lot.” Harry murmurs, leaving a chaste peck at Draco’s hairline. 

“I hoped you would.” Draco whispers back. Smile small evident on his face. Clearly pleased. “I wasn’t sure.”

Harry hums contentedly. “This was pretty kinky for you, Draco. Have I corrupted you?”

“Don’t start.” Draco states, smacking at his chest lightly. Dry humor and embarrassment returning. Harry can't help it. Teasing Draco is too much fun for him to resist.

“Whatever will we do next?” Harry wonders aloud. He doesn't look outside of them at the people passing. Eyes only on Draco as his boyfriend moves to kiss him.

-

“Oh, we’re done.” Pansy says with a huff. “We’ve had one of each. No more. The baby factory is closed.”

Draco honest to god snorts at that, making a pfft sound. “Baby factory.” He repeats, laughing. Harry rolls his eyes. The two of them were slap-happy now. Harry has his arm around Draco. Nursing his glass of water. It was important to hydrate after drinking.

Pansy giggles madly, curling up on the cushioned bench beside her sleeping husband, laying her head on his shoulder. “Draco didn't want to visit anyone's baby factory.”

“No. Can’t say I did.” Draco drawls out.

“You have Potter’s babies now though.” Pansy points out.

Draco guffaws. “They are all fairly self-sufficient and potty trained - thank Circe.” His boyfriend replies.

“And proud of it.” Harry adds. Draco pats him on the knee at that.

Harry hums thoughtfully. Glancing around them. The staff were closing the place down. Downstairs was already closed. It was nearly six am. He watches Astoria and Simone in discussion by the side of the bar. Seamus passed out beside them on a stool from the drinking match he got into with Simone. They should be pleased with the grand opening Harry thinks.

“Tony, wake up. We’ve relived our twenties now take me home.” Pansy suddenly demands imperiously.

“Uh-huh.” Anthony responds intelligently. Blearily opening his eyes and running a hand through his dirty blond hair.

“How ‘bout us?” Harry asks his boyfriend.

“Yes, I think so.” Draco agrees, squeezing Harry’s hand on his arm. “Let me say goodbye to the ladies.”

“You ladies’ man, you.” He jokes.

“Naturally.” Draco retorts with a flourish of his hand.

He watches Draco walk away. Enjoying the view as his boyfriend saunters over to his friends.

“You two are a cute couple.” Pansy interrupts him, starting to yawn as she moves to stand. Anthony gets to his feet as well. Patting down his sides, checking that his wallet and wand are still on him. “Even if it is _you_ , Potter.”

“Gee thanks, Pansy.” Harry returns sarcastically.

“Of course.”

“Good to see you, Harry.” Anthony waves once in goodbye.

Harry lifts his glass in return. “And you.”

He eventually gets up and meanders over to where Draco is. His body already feels dehydrated and sore. Tomorrow will be a day spent with Hangover Potion and water. Of course, it already is tomorrow, late as it is – or early. He winds his arms around Draco, leaning his forehead against his shoulder.

“We ought to leave.” Draco says, resting a hand on Harry’s arm. “This one is tired.”

“You will always have the VIP treatment here, Draco.” Astoria tells his boyfriend, much too perky for the hour. “All of our managers know you’re on the list.”

“Spoiled.” Harry mutters.

The women giggle.

Walking along the street in the early grey morning light is a drastic difference from the inside. Draco moves to his right side, pulling his arm over his shoulder. Harry leans on him.

“You're limping.” Draco notes after a while.

“I was having a good time.” Harry excuses, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Draco shakes his head, but his eyes are mirthful. “Fool.”

“I’m fine.” He deflects.

He is too. He would much rather have his leg be sore from a night of fun or a successful mission than to wake up and it just be hurting. Besides, if he plays his cards right Draco will give him a nice rub down with the fire salamander salve that completely eases his tense muscles. The ointment was finally on the market now and part of his pain management routine.

It was a good night. Great even. Every part of it. Despite the bits with Pansy. Draco hums one of the songs that was on repeat tonight as they get to the apparition point. Harry inhales the lovely smell of cinnamon that permeated the club and Draco’s own scent as his boyfriend side-alongs them back to Grimmauld.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I wanted to explore more smutty fun. It is not my forte but it is always a good challenge to try something new. Plus, I finally got to introduce Simone. One of the OCs I had planned from the start. As always, I own nothing but plots. All comments and kudos are much appreciated.
> 
> Translations via the gracious Dauntlessofthe sea:  
> "J’avais dit ça à Astoria en privé! - I told Astoria that in private!  
> “Oh mais oublie, c’est pas grave”” - Pay no attention to me.  
> "Je ne peux pas m’en empêcher. Il est canon. Je suis contente pour vous.” - I cannot help myself. He's hot. I am happy for you.
> 
> Thank you, Dauntless


	13. Dyslexia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Jamie work together.

The children’s primary school is its own special hell. All the parents try not to stare and look amongst each other when he passes. Draco ignores the snippets of whispers he overhears. He can tell it bothers Harry from the way his eyes narrow slightly as if his boyfriend might glare them all into submission. Draco imagines Harry attracted a fair amount of attention before just from being who he is, but now they stop people mid-conversation.

It is all a new experience for Draco. He never visited a primary school before meeting the Potter children. Wigbins Primary is a quaint looking three-story building from the outside. Inside holds a large entry way with two main floos. The wooden floors are shiny and scuffed by the hundred fifty or so students. Technically, the boys are the only two enrolled, but Lily will go next year. The nursery school she attends is only a block away. The first time Draco joined Harry in picking them up was like a bizarre, miniature Hogwarts reunion. Apparently, a good amount of people in their year produced children around the boys’ age.

Pansy is the lone parent there he voluntarily speaks to on any given day. Not that the others are clamoring to converse. Today, Pansy has the pram with baby Aaron, sat inside, looking doubtfully out at the world with his dark eyes. Cheeks chubby and shaking his balled-up fist at passerby. He rather reminds Draco of Pansy’s father in that way.

“I hear you’re on the pickup list for the boys now.” Pansy remarks. Eyeing him with a smirk. Draco appreciates her teasing. She was reliably snarky at the best of times. “Potter must be mad to think you can be left in charge of children.”

Draco returns her look. “I’ve been deemed a responsible adult.” 

“My, my,” Pansy says, smile amused. “Wonders never cease.”

Lily jabbers away, holding his hand as they wait for the boys to be released. Spelling the three letter words she has learnt at nursery school for baby Aaron. Who did appear to be paying attention if only because someone loud and energetic was in front of him.

“You’re going to end up on the PTA at this rate, Draco.” Pansy teases.

“What is a PTA?” He asks suspiciously. Whatever it was, it sounded daunting by the way Pansy said it.

“Oh, Draco.” His friend chides. “Don’t let anyone other than me hear you say that.”

Draco had been taught by private tutors and his mother prior to attending Hogwarts. Generations of purebloods were taught like he was. In fact, he knew his curriculum was the exact same as his father’s and his grandfather’s before him. His subjects had been typical for a boy his age. Latin, French, history, bestiaries, numerology, and music. The workbooks that the boys brought home were strikingly at odds from his own early education. A combination of muggle and wizarding subjects.

“Hello, Pansy.” Harry greets cordially, joining them. He had been flagged down earlier by a couple Draco does not know. Something about a field trip? Draco can see some of the other parents still gawking at them. Eyes shifting guiltily away when they spot Draco looking back. He hopes they will get used to his presence as time went on. Then he can be just another person in the crowd.

“Potter.” Pansy acknowledges the greeting loftily.

“Daddy, Mrs. Goldstein brought her baby!” Lily tells her father exuberantly like this is the most fantastic thing that has happened to her all day. For all Draco knows, that is true.

“I see that.” Harry says, bending down in front of the baby. “Hello, Aaron.” His boyfriend singsongs to the baby, wiggling his fingers at him and pulling a face. Draco pulls his own. Thank goodness, none of Harry’s children are infants. He doubts he would have the patience for them.

The bell rings and within minutes a stream of small uniformed children exit a dozen or more classrooms. Spilling out from hallways and the stairs. Draco finds James in the fray first, dark hair standing on end. Albus comes along too after a bit. Backpack in his hands and glasses crooked. Frowning about something.

Draco reaches out to fix Albus’ glasses as he approaches. “How was school?” Draco asks the boy.

Al looks up at him with a serious expression. Green eyes magnified by his glasses. “We had to practice maths and I don’t like subtraction as much as adding.”

“That’ll happen.” Harry comments beside Draco, nodding sagely. “Maybe you’ll like them better after you get used to them.”

Al sighs as if it were all too much. “Yeah. Maybe.” He responds, seemingly put out. Gabrielle Goldstein makes her way over to her mother and Al perks up, maths temporarily forgotten. “Hi, Gabby.”

“Hi, Al.” Gabby greets, smiling widely. Draco notices she is missing one of her front teeth. He remembers when she was born. She was the first baby he ever held. Also, the first baby to vomit on him. It had been a day of a lot of firsts.

“Can we _go_?” James demands, balancing on the balls of his feet, arms crossed behind his head. 

“How was school for you today, James?” Draco asks as they queue up for the floo behind the other families. Girding himself for the reaction. It was important to him that he try initiating conversation with James. Otherwise, Draco feared James would avoid him. Even all these months later, the boy still seemed to keep Draco at arm’s length.

James is naturally disinterested and dismissive, but he does answer. “Fine.”

Draco and Harry exchange a glance at that. Harry raising his eyebrows at Draco. It was not the worst reaction that could happen. James could have dramatically mimed stabbing himself in the heart or ignored Draco entirely. He tended to vacillate between dramatic and detached. Draco rather thought James was well prepared for his adolescent years.

They are not even back at Grimmauld long when it becomes obvious something is amiss. The children typically run off to the playroom or the garden first thing. Unwinding after school. Lily and Albus scamper upstairs, but James remains with Draco and Harry in the sitting room. Drawing the tip of his toe in a line back and forth across the carpet. Draco frowns slightly at that, it was new carpet after all.

“Dad?”

“Hmmm?” Harry acknowledges where he is sitting, scrolling through his phone. Draco is aware Harry has access to the wi-fi through the device. That he reads the muggle news on it. His boyfriend will even sometimes play music for them on it in the evenings.

“I have a note from the headmistress. Don’t freak out.” James says all in one rushed breath.

Harry extends his hand and Jamie produces a crumpled note from under his jumper. Draco wonders if the boy had been trying to figure a way to keep it from Harry. It would be impossible based on the charm placed on it. The envelop flutters like a small bird until Harry opens it. It would have gotten more and more rambunctious the longer James took to deliver it to Harry. His boyfriend’s mouth quirks while reading it. Lines forming on his forehead. He hands it over wordlessly to Draco when finished. Expression impassive.

_Auror Potter,_

_The yearly screenings at Wigbins Primary have been completed. These screenings are performed in order to identify any child struggling with a subject or learning issue. In years past, we have found, as you know, that James’ reading level is below average at the start of the term, but that he is typically able to get it to par._

_This year James was indicated as having a possible sensory concern. Our screening indicates he may have dyslexia. This is a learning disorder that is characterized by difficulty reading due to challenges decoding speech sounds as they relate to letters and words. However, these screenings are not exhaustive and I have attached a referral to a specialist in diagnostics. Please, if you wish to discuss this further or need assistance making an appointment, reach out to my office._

_Sincerely,_

_Headmistress M. Boleyn_

“Am I in trouble?” James asks once Draco finishes reading the letter, sounding worried. Hands fidgeting with the hem of his jumper.

“Should you be?” Harry responds, raising an eyebrow. Draco suspects this is an automatic response. It is something he has heard his boyfriend say dozens of times when one of the children asks this question.

Jamie shrugs his shoulders. Seemingly oblivious. Waiting for his father to continue.

Harry sighs, mouth crooking as he looks at the boy. “This letter isn’t the headmistress telling me you’ve misbehaved.” Harry explains. “Your school is concerned you might have a – er – I guess it would be a learning disability.”

James appears baffled at that. “I’m not stupid.” He responds hotly, crossing his arms.

“This isn’t saying that.” Harry replies just as quickly, tone firmer. “And having a learning disability doesn't mean someone is stupid. The school thinks you might have dyslexia.”

“Is that a jinx?”

“No, James.” Draco corrects. “Dyslexia is a disorder that can make it challenging for people to read and write. This may be part of why you do not like to read.”

“Oh.” James voices. He looks down at his shoes, frowning. “Can I go?” He asks, dejected.

“You may.” Draco permits once it is clear Harry is not going to respond. His boyfriend looks contemplative. Resting his chin on his hand and brow furrowed.

James runs off and Draco turns to Harry. Concerned. “Are you quite all right?”

“There was always something.” Harry says, sounding frustrated. 

“What do you mean?” Draco questions.

Harry shakes his head. Expression worried. “I’ve caught him so many times struggling to read. I just told him to keep practicing and let it go.”

Draco feels badly for him. Harry tried so hard to be a good father. He was a good parent. Draco knew this as a fact, but Harry occasionally had doubts. He had shared how poorly he was raised by those muggles and the few parental role models he had were only present during the later years of his childhood. Harry feared being neglectful to his own children. That he would do something harmful unknowingly.

“We don’t know for sure that he has dyslexia.” Draco gently reminds. Although. Privately, Draco believes this would explain a lot. He too, has noticed James’ aversion to reading and writing. Only engaging when an adult was solely reading a story. Having Al write his parts of letters to their mother. Unfinished schoolwork excused away. Becoming frustrated when younger siblings read or spelled out something quicker.

-

It falls to him, strangely enough, to take James to the diagnostician. A pediatric healer. Harry was called in last minute on an emergency. Draco just told him to go. He can handle this one appointment.

James is clearly uncomfortable in the office. Eyes shifting between Draco and the healer. Expression unhappy. There had been several assessments. Draco sitting in the corner as James interacted with the diagnostician. Completing different tasks set before him involving a variety of subjects.

“Your son has dyslexia.”

“He’s not my dad.” James replies sharply, sounding cross. “Draco’s just Dad’s boyfriend who lives with us.”

The healer pauses for a moment considering James’ outburst before continuing, “I will send a copy of our results to the school. They will likely want to add accommodations and potentially a special needs class to his curriculum.”

“More school.” James whines, lolling his head back in his seat, whole body sagging.

Draco grimaces. This was not the result they wanted but hopefully James could benefit from intervention. It would probably put Harry’s mind at ease too. 

“Is there anything we should be doing at home?” Draco asks. James groans.

“There are several activities you can do at home to support him. Reading together and working with him to spell things out in a variety of ways are often the most helpful. My staff will provide you with a packet when you check out.”

The packet is more of an instructional book. He spends the afternoon reading through it. Trying to absorb the activities Harry will be attempting with James. The recommendation is that they spend daily dedicated time with James practicing reading and writing in a wide array of activities. 

James will hate it.

“I hate this!” James complains, laying on the rug in the middle of the library as Draco observes Harry trying to engage him once again.

Harry is frustrated too. Only a few days into trying this and Draco can tell his boyfriend is having a hard time remaining patient. It is difficult to maintain a specific time for Harry and James to focus on one of the reading activities together. Al and Lily get jealous or demanding for attention from Harry at some point - interrupting them. It does not help that James is very touchy about any perceived judgement about his intelligence or lack of ability from his father. Resulting in more arguments than what Draco is accustomed to overhearing. It gets worse when Harry tries to use books that only Lily reads.

In short: it is a mess.

One night, Olta brings them James’ essay workbooks that the boy tried to bin. Harry stares at them for some time. Frowning. They are making little headway at home. James’ teacher owled a note that evening reporting James was not behaving for the special education teacher who worked with him in the mornings to prepare for new lessons. 

“What do I do?” Harry voices, despairing. Curling and uncurling the boy’s workbook in his hands as he frets.

“Let me try for a bit.” Draco offers. His schedule is more flexible. Half the problem was Harry’s work hours were not set each week. A consistent time was not possible. “James doesn’t care what I think of him.”

“That’s not true.” Harry disagrees.

“Let me rephrase,” Draco says, considering his next words. “He cares less what I think about him than what you do.”

James is obstinate and angry about the change. This is expected. The first fifteen to twenty minutes of those first few sessions they meet one on one are spent with the boy pouting and refusing to engage entirely. Eventually conceding to sit next to Draco at the little, square table in the library. His hands reflexively making fists every few minutes as he tries to control his frustration. Practicing spelling in the sand tray the instructional manual suggested and working on his weekly spelling lists for his class. 

It is slow progress. Excruciatingly slow at times. But it is progress.

On one memorable occasion early on in becoming a tutor, Draco brings out some older issues of Quidditch International that are kept in their library. Hoping that would garner James’ interest. It seems to work until it becomes apparent to him that the boy has memorized several of the main articles.

“How did you read these?” Draco questions bewildered as he flips through the pages of the magazines. He had never witnessed James read so easily.

James shrugs. “Didn’t. Dad did.”

“But that was _months_ ago.” Draco responds incredulously.

The same holds true for a dozen or more of the children’s books in the library. The ones Harry read aloud at bedtime hundreds of times. It makes _sense_ James would have those memorized, but he cannot seem to read the more complicated words from the books and articles that Draco extracts. The researcher in him wants to know more. 

Over the following weeks, Draco discovers that James remembers every bit of a story read aloud. Nearly to the point of perfect recitation and he can summarize what happened. However, when James attempts to read, the boy is almost entirely unable to summarize any part of it. Similarly, James can write familiar repetitive words, but when asked to write, he haphazardly puts together a few pertinent nouns and verbs with a few descriptors sprinkled in. If asked to speak aloud what he would like to express instead, James is able to create the small paragraph answers he is tasked to write out for school.

It is a learning experience for both of them. Draco can readily admit that he was not half so patient as he once believed he was. Potion ingredients did not argue back. But James acquiesces more and more over time. Getting straight to his work. They practice separating words into smaller bits for him to read aloud together and physically spelling them in the sand. Every day they do this for a minimum of an hour after school. When he is there, Harry keeps the other two occupied when they try to pop their heads in if they go over time. Otherwise Olta generously keeps a watchful eye on them. Lily is very concerned she is missing out on something fun whenever she sees the sand tray left out on his desk.

The whole household’s schedule changes due to this. Draco becomes the primary pickup person at school when the bell rings. Lily already in hand as they wait with Pansy. The children still stay at their grandparents’ home at least once a week after school on Ron Weasley’s day off, but Draco usually gathers them from the Burrow earlier now too. He maintains more consistent work hours than Harry after all. It seems practical to collect the children himself. One less trip for Harry to make before coming home.

It is all more domestic than Draco could have imagined. He and Harry have not even been together a year. Is this okay? Is this what people do? He loves Harry and he cares about these children, but now he is _invested_ in them. He lives with them. He is a critical part of their routine. He acts frequently as their guardian. He is filled with pride when he watches James learn to read a new word or summarize what he read after such hard work. Delighted when Al shows a natural interest in potions and learning about magical creatures. Endeared when Lily breaks into a run once she sees him at pick up. Jumping into his arms like they have been separated for too long.

-

“Molly said he talked late.” Harry quietly informs him one night in the comfortable silence while they are relaxing on their bed. Quilt pooling around their legs and propped upright by the overstuffed pillows Draco preferred. Fireplace lit in the room over, chasing away the cold in the master suite. It was the beginning of December after all. 

“James.” Harry states, clarifying at Draco’s questioning look.

“Oh?” Draco acknowledges, abandoning the report he was reading.

“I just thought he just had nothing to say most of the time.” Harry says half laughing and wiping a hand over his face. Expression suddenly tired. “And Ginny wasn’t fussed. Jamie never had any problem communicating when he needed. But now that I think back, it was almost always like a tap on the hand or nodding or shaking his head. Then when he did talk his sounds were always switched between words. I thought that was okay. I always knew what he was trying to tell me.”

“You didn't do anything wrong.” Draco consoles taking Harry’s hand in a loose grip. He had wondered if something was on Harry’s mind. It was not uncommon for his boyfriend to share his most personal concerns when they were alone at the end of the day.

Harry sighs frowning. “I knew something wasn’t quite right and I didn’t follow through. I see how much he's improved already, and I can’t believe I let it go so long.”

“His memory is remarkable and clearly his language ability improved.” Draco responds. “There is a reason he went this long without all the adults in his life figuring it out. He was clever enough to adapt.”

“He shouldn't have had to.”

“You cannot shield him from everything, Harry.” He says. And really, he felt Harry sheltered the children more than necessary at times. “This was a challenge he was going to face at some point no matter what.”

His boyfriend turns dejectedly to his side, wrapping his arms around Draco and laying his head on Draco’s chest. Sighing heavily. Draco runs his fingers through Harry’s thick, dark hair. Scratching lightly at his scalp. It is all he knows to do. Pansy used to do this when they were at Hogwarts when he was upset. It always soothed him. He can do this now for Harry.

“You’re a good parent.” Harry murmurs absently into Draco’s chest. “You were patient with him when I couldn’t be. You’re always so patient.”

What Harry says so casually strikes Draco to his core. Filling him with the insecurity he has been shoving to the side. _Parent._ No. He cannot be that. He is not allowed. They might be hurt. The boys were already mocked at school because of him.

“Harry,” He starts, voice strained. Throat catching.

His boyfriend pulls back so they can look at each other. Harry raises his eyebrow, indicating Draco should continue.

“Am I overstepping?” Draco asks worriedly. He tried to not take on a role that was not his. He never wanted to get between Harry and the children. “You must tell me if I am. I’m _not_ their parent. James is very clear on that point and . . . I know Lily gets confused.”

Lily had lately taken to calling him daddy. Off and on. At first it was confusing, they thought she was calling for Harry and she got irritated when he answered instead of Draco. It had been amusing, but if it was causing problems -

“You are _not_ overstepping.” Harry reassures, switching to the logical one now in the conversation. “And, Lily’s _not_ confused.”

“But what about Ginevra?”

Harry looks confused for a second. Tilting his head to the side in the way his children did sometimes before connecting the dots. “What about her?”

“Will she be upset?” Draco questions. He might be in her place. It was disconcerting to him that he was with the children more than their own mother. This was a feeling he had never stated aloud. Concerned that Harry would interpret it as a criticism of his ex-wife. Besides, a good part of him thought this feeling sprang from old sexist beliefs. But the feeling remained. The discomfort that maybe he was infringing on someone else’s role.

The boys voiced missing Ginevra, but there again, Lily never did. The last two times Ginevra had her, Lily tantrummed at the pass over. He was told this was typical. Draco wrote it off as her being so young and not fully comprehending he and Harry would return as scheduled.

Harry rolls his eyes. “If Ginny gets upset, she’ll say something. She has zero problem giving her opinion. Believe you me. I doubt it though. She’s usually pretty content to leave me all the big decisions and let the kids behave how they want.”

Draco wishes that he could say Harry effectively puts those worries to rest. An essential part of his personality is being a worrier. Always preparing for the next concern. What comes next? What can cause him pain? What can hurt his loved ones? What does he need to do to survive? 

When he threw off the arrogant bully persona he donned as a youth, he was left with anxiety and a need to prove himself. Academia and work were fields he was able to throw himself into well enough and succeed. But this. Being a parent? To children? He thought he would at least have a crup first.

During the last year he has pushed past every invisible line that kept him safe and relatively worry-free. Moving back to Britain. This mad relationship with Harry. Then being around the children. Living at Grimmauld. The manor. And Harry bloody Potter thinks he – Draco Malfoy – is equal to the task of being a parent to his children. That he is worthy of it.

“I think you’re mad.” Draco tells Harry with certainty. 

“Mad for you.” His boyfriend retorts, leaning upward to kiss him on the nose. Draco despairs at how much he enjoys the affection.

-

“I can’t do it!”

“You can do it. We have been working on this all week. I know this is a difficult word, but you can spell it.” Draco states again for the record even though the record is just himself. Staring at James who is not budging. Expression stubborn and arms crossed. “Spell. The. Word.” He insists to the boy.

“S. H. I. T.”

“Not that word, James.” Draco responds, holding on to the remaining tendrils of his calm. Preventing his exasperation from bleeding into his tone.

James rolls his eyes, twisting around where he stands in the library. Raising his hand and spelling out each letter in midair, using the toy wand Draco bought him. “D. E. M. O. N. S. T. R. A. T. E.”

“Use it in a sentence.” Draco prompts. Crossing his legs and sitting back as James huffs. It was hardly a surprise. Every time they spelled James was asked to define or use the word as a way to build his mastery of word and sound meanings.

“I demonstrate spelling every day.”

Draco claps and James smiles brightly in reaction, taking a bow. Twirling the toy wand as he goes. The boy’s dark eyes shining with self-confidence. 

“Shall we show your father?”

“Maybe later.” James excuses, pocketing the wand. Brown eyes shifting away from Draco’s observation.

“Are you sure?” Draco tries again. “I know he would be happy to listen.”

“I don’t wanna bother him, Draco. He’s busy.”

It was not the first time he had heard James say he did not want to disturb Harry. Draco suspected it had to do with the boy’s desire to not disappoint his father or somehow drudge bad memories to the forefront. James had mentioned in the past not asking prying questions because ‘Dad gets sad’. Draco had overheard James pressuring Albus to do the same.

“He is very proud of you.” Draco finds himself saying. James looks sharply at him at that, eyes narrowing.

“I haven’t done anything cool like him.”

“Your father is proud every time you work hard to learn something new. You apply yourself and do not give up when there are obstacles. That is one of the most important skills to practice as you grow.”

“I guess.”

“Well, I know.” Draco replies, waving his wand to pack the reading practice materials away. The tray seals itself and floats to the top shelf where Draco stores it. “Do you know how much I fail on a daily basis?”

“No, you don’t.” James refutes. Looking suspicious as if Draco were trying to trick him. “You make all kinds of potions and things where you work. Like that cream stuff for Dad.”

“It takes years to develop medicinal treatments. Years of trial and error – mostly error. The only reason I persisted was because I wanted to help people who have injuries like your father. Failure can be part of solving a problem.”

“Okay, Draco.” James says, tone clearly humoring. “Are we done now?”

Draco knew when to stop pressing. “Alright, then. Let’s go see what your father and siblings are doing, shall we?”

-

_Witch Weekly_

_Cont. on page A3. Burlesque._

_. . . is the club to visit. Rave reviews on muggle media indicate it is a place for all – little do they know how right they are. All beings are welcome in the European vogue. Burlesque even manages to lure out even the most reclusive celebrities including a brief reunion of the Weird Sisters and a captivating set performed by rising star Marcelle who notably only performs with their back to the crowd and always in shadow._

_Why even Britain’s Saviour turned out for the grand opening. It is unusual to glimpse Auror Potter outside of a professional setting. This is not so surprising considering the connection between Burlesques’ owners and Potter’s beau. If we get more pictures of a club hopping Auror Potter in skinny jeans looking fit, then this reviewer is prepared to fully support the strangest couple of the year. Potter [pictured below with boyfriend Draco Malfoy] is wearing one of designer Dulce’s new . . ._

“What are you reading?” James asks curiously, trying to look over Draco’s shoulder where he sits.

“There is an article in here about a business some friends of mine own.” Draco explains, closing the magazine. He rarely bought a copy of Witch Weekly, but Astoria told him the review of Burlesque was complimentary of his relationship and he was curious.

“Oh.” James replies, tone indicating disinterest. “Sounds boring.”

“Did you have something you wanted to tell me?” Draco redirects, bemused. James was a frank boy. He was like his father that way.

The boy digs in his pockets and pulls out a piece of folded up paper. “I wanted to show you first before I showed Dad.”

It is his quiz. The weekly spelling quiz to be exact. Draco’s heart clenches in his chest as he scans over it - at the red marks on the top of the page. 

“You got them all correct. Well done, James! You’ve worked hard.” He sincerely congratulates, a bit embarrassed at the change in his tone. He might bloody well cry. Mordred and Morgana, what has become of him?

“Thanks.” James replies, grin wide. “I gonna show Dad now.” He states, holding out his hand for the folded paper. 

Draco does not want to let it go, but it is not his accomplishment to hold onto. He gives the quiz back and watches James rush away. Feeling fond - of all things. Harry was probably trying to figure out dinner at this time. They will be having a celebratory meal tonight. Something spicy if he knows James' food preferences at all by now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thanks for reading. This is probably one of the chapters that is dearest to my heart. When I first started thinking of James, him having dyslexia was an automatic thought for me. Lots of people in my family have it and it effects people in a wide variety of ways. Not just what was fractionally depicted here.
> 
> I appreciate all the comments and kudos. The world is weird and this rambling fic gives me joy. I own nothing but plots.


	14. Yule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry celebrates a holiday with his family.

_Auror Potter,_

_I write to you today to extend my thanks for notifying me about my son’s injury. You have my eternal gratitude for rescuing him. As a parent, I imagine you understand the concern for your child’s safety. No matter how old and capable they grow to be. Ms. Greengrass has kindly updated me on Draco’s continued progress and that he will be discharged from St. Mungo’s shortly into your care. He is nothing if not resilient._

_Please expect several packages addressed to Grimmauld Place for my son in the meantime. I anticipate this letter will reach you prior to their arrival. My trip next month will proceed as planned. I have been advised there is no need to hasten it. I plan to stay at my townhouse in Edinburgh. If possible, I would be quite happy to host you and your children there during my visit._

_Sincerely,_

_Narcissa Black Malfoy_

_Narcissa,_

_The packages all arrived. Draco is back at Grimmauld. He is healing well. I would be glad to visit you at your townhouse over the holiday. I want to invite you to Grimmauld Place as well. You are welcome to stay with us here too. The guest rooms are all available._

_HJP_

-

Christmas was a hectic time of year for him. Since Teddy's birth, he has done his utmost to make every Christmas special. This year adds Draco into the mix. Harry has no clue what to get his boyfriend, but he knows that he wants their first Christmas together as a couple to be special. There is a slight issue though. Draco doesn't really celebrate Christmas. He celebrates Yule.

A fact that catches Harry completely off guard.

“You don’t celebrate Christmas at all?” Harry questions as they work in their sitting room to wrap the children’s presents. It is midnight. All gifting operations happened in the dead of night to avoid sneaky sprogs. Harry had learned that lesson the hard way. His children had a sixth sense for locating hidden presents.

“I participate in gift giving,” Draco explains, rotating his wand to finish a bow on Al’s gift. “Whether it is for Christmas or Hanukkah. There is a lot of overlap between those holidays and Yule. Most pureblood families celebrate Yule along with one of the other major winter holidays. The Malfoys only celebrated Yule, but my mother’s family indulged in Christmas on occasion. As a boy, we did most of our gift giving on the winter solstice and the twelve days after were typically spent as a family.”

“That sounds . . . homey.” Harry decides on saying. Honestly, the thought of spending twelve straight days with Lucius and Narcissa seemed anything but festive. More like a punishment really.

Draco raises an eyebrow at that like he overheard Harry's internal monologue. “It _was_ nice, Harry. We burnt the ceremonial Yule log – preferably one from the estate. We lit it in the fireplace in the great hall. We usually exchanged gifts then too. Supposedly grandfather Abraxas always sacrificed one of the goats, but I don’t remember that happening. Mother always said that I cried during that part.”

“So, animal sacrifice is out for this year?” Harry deadpans. It was probably for the better if he did not comment further on the Malfoy family’s penchant for death. But he will be hard pressed not to make a goat sacrifice joke later on.

Draco nods, expression wry. “It was fun to find the perfect Yule log each year when I was young. I think the children would like it.” He shares as they finish wrapping the last of the presents they have gotten so far.

This is the primary gift Harry gives Draco. They will celebrate Yule this year together. Him, Draco, and the children. He can surely manage a Yule log. He hopes so at any rate as he bundles the children in their warmest winter coats. Kreacher doling out the gloves and hats for all of them. Draco even seems excited at the prospect. Grey eyes bright as they take the children to the manor for the first time.

Harry has told the children about the manor. He knows Draco has too. That it is a big house on a big piece of land. That Draco has been working very hard at fixing it because it has been in his family for a long, long time. Apparently, none of that prepared them properly. The children’s eyes widen comically in amazement when they exit the ridiculously huge fireplace into the main foyer. 

“Are we in a museum?” Al whispers in awe, gaping around him.

“I thought we were going to Draco’s family’s house?” Jamie asks, looking all around him as if he might find the real house he is searching for. “This isn’t a house. It's like a mansion or something.”

Lily’s mouth is a big ‘o’. Spinning slowly in place. She reminds Harry of a marshmallow with how puffy her winter coat was on her.

“This is Draco’s house.” Harry explains. Smiling in surprise down at his sprogs. He was not expecting this reaction. “Malfoy Manor it’s called.”

“Or just the manor.” Draco adds, lifting his wand. 

The room brightens. Harry watches as the rooms leading off the main foyer fill with light further emphasizing the manor’s old, opulent trappings. Stone floor with its designs etched throughout in intricate patterns. Portraits stirring in their elaborate frames. Busts and statuettes throwing odd shadows on the wall. Harry supposes it does seem a bit like a museum, especially on the main floor. Draco has not changed much down here beyond repairing the damaged structure and artefacts. The siege after the war and the destruction Harry wrought during the magical core fiasco had made this place little more than a ruin. Harry thought Draco had worked wonders on the place.

“Why don’t we live here?” James voices, face suddenly ornery as the boy starts hopping up the wide staircase. Two steps at a time. “We could have loads of fun here. Is it cause it’s far away?”

“It is in the country.” Harry replies, observing Jamie very obviously scope out the room. “And no one lives here.”

“Why not?” Al inquires, tilting his head up at his father.

Harry looks to Draco for support.

“I haven’t restored everything yet.” Draco tells them, expression considering. “My mother might come to live here later – at least for part of the year – and I need to hire house elves to help maintain the place. I suppose there will be times I stay here too.”

“I’ll come with you!” Lily shouts, running as best she can over to Draco to pull at his coat with her mitten clad hands. “We can even bring Daddy!”

Draco smiles at that proclamation.

The outside is the nicest part of the manor Harry thinks like something out of a Christmas card he would have seen when he was a kid. All the outer buildings are finished now. Outdoor sconces illuminating the sparkling snow covering them. Coniferous trees dotting the landscape in bunches. There is a good bit of snow on the ground. As high as Lily’s knees though there is less on the pathway they are on. His daughter carefully places her smaller feet in the footprints he and Draco leave in their wake. Following along like a little duckling. 

Jamie and Al run ahead in order to test out the sled they brought on a sloping hill. They watch the boys run up and down the hill for several minutes. Lily eventually gets a few turns sitting in front of Al while Jamie shoves them forward. The two of them whooping joyfully as they speed down the hill. Draco pulls Lily along in the sled once they continue toward the denser trees in the distance. 

There is a great, old pine tree had fallen back by the cemetery during the siege. Cracked well in half so that only the lower trunk remains rooted to the ground. A sizeable branch cut off the other half will suffice as their Yule log. 

“Who's buried here?” Al questions, holding on to the iron post near the entrance of the Malfoy cemetery. “Are there ghosts? I’ve never seen one.”

“My relatives are buried in this cemetery.” Draco answers, tearing off some errant twigs from a section of the fallen tree he is inspecting. “I didn't know most of them. This graveyard is quite old, a few centuries at least, and there are no ghosts here.”

“Mum took us to Uncle Fred’s grave.” Al adds conversationally, swinging himself slightly around the post by his gloved hand. “We gave him lots of wheezes Uncle George made.”

Harry levitates the remains of the fallen tree trunk as Jamie, Lily, and Al brush off the snow. Draco lops off a few sturdier branches with his wand and then severs a section of the trunk for them. Keeping it levitated and performing a charm to dry it out. Preparing it for their fireplace at Grimmauld. They begin their march back but are stopped short again by the children. He and Draco spend the next hour watching them sled down another steep hill nearby until it gets too cold and the sun starts to set.

-

Narcissa arrives at Grimmauld Place a day prior to the winter solstice. Silver-white hair with its single dark tendril perfectly in place under an artfully draped lilac cowl. Wearing a dark purple winter coat obviously tailored to her willowy frame. Matched chic looking suitcases floating behind her and an umbrella tucked neatly under her arm.

“You look like Elsa.” Lily says with gravity upon being introduced to Draco’s mother. “If Elsa was old.”

“Lily!” Harry reprimands, giving his daughter a sharp displeased look. Lily appears unperturbed, shrugging. It was a high compliment from his daughter to be like Princess Elsa. She clearly felt she did not do wrong.

Narcissa merely extends her gloved hand to his four-year-old as if they are in a business meeting. Harry wonders how long it has been since Narcissa was around a child. He would bet Draco was the last one. Lily stares at Narcissa's open hand before moving forward to give the woman a hug. Wrapping her little arms firmly around Narcissa’s legs. Harry has seen some remarkable things in his life and watching Narcissa Malfoy’s split second of shock transform into bemusement is one of them. Harry was not certain the woman was capable of looking fond.

Jamie and Al have their hair combed. Draco got it into his head this morning that the boys needed to be well groomed today. A bottle of Sleakeazy’s was produced from thin air and the boys corralled into the loo. Jamie even tucked in his button up under his jumper. Harry suspects bribery. A lot of bribery. Both boys politely greet Narcissa before being excused to go play, Lily bouncing after them.

“Mother.” Draco greets formally. Posture perfect. “Welcome to Grimmauld Place.”

“Thank you. It's lovely to see you, darling.” Narcissa begins, leaning in to kiss Draco on each cheek and hug him. Well. Harry suspects it was a hug. When he hugs his children, they tend to feel it. Their hugs also last longer than a second. This one is barely there and gone. Nothing like the one Lily laid on Narcissa moments ago.

“Auror Potter.” Narcissa acknowledges offering her hand again. “Thank you for the invitation. I hope you are well.”

“Please, call me Harry.” He says, shaking her hand. She appears older naturally, but he thinks she aged well. The fine lines around her eyes and mouth more evident than when he last saw her during the trials after the war. She has a healthier complexion too. Her pale blue eyes remain keen though. Clearly studying him. “You are always welcome here. This is Draco’s home too.”

His boyfriend looks pleased at that statement. Cheeks flushing briefly where he stands slightly behind his mother. It is a good start considering the history Harry has with this woman. All the good and bad. But he likes to make Draco happy. He can do that easily enough by welcoming Narcissa into their home.

Olta is there to take Narcissa’s coat and belongings. They elected to have her primarily be the one to wait on Narcissa. Kreacher was near hysterics at the mention of Draco’s mother staying with them for a few days. Harry was concerned the old elf might have a stroke. It reminded him of the early days of Draco visiting Grimmauld - not that the elf had stopped doting on the man - but his enthusiasm had cooled to genuine pleasure from rapturous bliss. Regardless, the old elf had outdone himself cleaning and decorating the house.

Kreacher usually did up the house beautifully for Christmas but this year it seemed especially bursting with holiday spirit. He knows the elf had also been pleased to be celebrating Yule this year. Harry had no idea it would be something the elf cared about but perhaps he should have. The Blacks celebrated this too.

Dinner goes well enough. There are no meltdowns from Lily or complaints from the boys about eating food they are unused to trying. It probably helps that Olta was their cook tonight and both boys are careful to never offend the principal baker of sweets in the household. Harry more or less goes about his evening routine puttering around his office and checking in on the children. Giving Draco and his mother space to visit alone for a while until it is time for the children’s bedtime.

After they finish tucking in the children, he and Draco join Narcissa in the sitting room. Narcissa is in the armchair near the fireplace. Appearing to examine the stockings with all their names sewed on. The children’s stockings were handmade by Molly. Each embroidered with a different holiday-based design. His and Draco’s are plainer. Lily had taken it upon herself to place some of her stickers on them to decorate.

Harry walks directly to the sideboard where Kreacher prepared drinks for them. Pouring three glasses for them. Some mulled wine for the occasion as a nightcap. It reminds Harry of other nightcaps he has had with Draco in this room. He stops that thought cold before it can take root. Trying not to freeze under Narcissa's inspection as he hands her a glass. Narcissa was an accomplished Legilimens after all. All the Black sisters were. 

“I was planning to visit your father tomorrow. I hoped you might join me.” Narcissa comments lightly as if she were going to tea and not into one of the heaviest guarded wizarding prisons in the world to see a man who well-earned the tightest security restrictions the institution offered.

“I have seen him twice already this year.” Draco responds dryly. Blinking once in what Harry can only define as sardonic and taking a seat on the couch facing his mother. Crossing his legs. “I’m fairly certain I have met my quota.”

“Oh, Draco.” His mother lightly chides.

“I cannot be guilted into this, Mother.” Draco says, holding his hand up. “Please know, if anyone could coax me into seeing father again so soon, it would be you. Fortunately, I have already done enough this year to inspire your approval – the manor comes to mind.”

“Very well.” Narcissa concedes, clasping her hands in front of her.

Harry shifts awkwardly in his seat. Smile polite and forced. Trying to think of another topic of conversation. “Draco tells me you’re thinking of selling your place in Edinburgh?”

Narcissa considers him, mouth pursing delicately. “Yes, there is little need to retain it. We have not been utilizing the property. It just sits otherwise. We only did reside there the year after the war, and it was quite bare bones. It seems especially pointless now considering we will have use of the manor again shortly.”

“Do you think you’ll move back to Britain permanently?” He questions. Draco was guessing she might. Harry wonders what it will be like if Narcissa becomes a more frequent visitor. His boyfriend clearly loved his mother but also seemed comfortable to have her at a distance.

“Oh no,” Narcissa responds. “I have a full life in France. Although, I am hoping to split my time between the two. If that is all right with you, darling?” Narcissa ends with a polite nod toward Draco.

“ _You_ technically own the manor, Mother.” Draco reminds Narcissa. “Come and go as you please. You do not need my permission.”

“True, but it was my intention to give you control of the manor since you relocated to Britain. You are obviously well suited to life here in London, but perhaps you might want to retire to the countryside occasionally. There is certainly ample room for the children to run about and more space to entertain.”

Draco raises a pale eyebrow at that, expression suddenly incredulous. “Entertain?” He repeats.

“Mr. Potter here will likely be head auror one day, then who knows?” Narcissa remarks shrewdly, gesturing to Harry. Her expression sharp and expectant like Draco should be following along. “Maybe even minister of magic? One day? Shouldn’t you – as his partner – be able to grandly regale his visitors?”

Harry nearly chokes on his drink and works to clear his throat. “I think you have the wrong idea, Narcissa.” He breaks in hoarsely. He did _not_ under any circumstances wish to be minister of magic.

“I am not his social secretary.” Draco states, tone unamused.

“Of course not, darling.” Narcissa simpers. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Harry doubts that very much. Narcissa was always precise with her words. They were as much her shield as her dagger.

“Mother,” Draco voices, rubbing a hand at his temple. “I am not you. I do not wish to dovetail my significant other’s career. For one, I have my own work. For another, Harry has never expressed the slightest interest in politics.”

“He’s right.” Harry cuts in once more. Wanting to be clear and support his boyfriend. “I don’t want to be minister of magic. I might be head auror one day, that’s true, but I also may not.” He probably would be though. He knows this. Based on what he has accomplished as an auror thus far, he is on the right track to be – and that is not even adding in defeating Riddle.

“A position that still requires some political maneuvering.” Narcissa insists. “You forget that I am an old hand at the inner workings of ministerial politicking.”

Draco puts down his glass of wine firmly and clasps his hands in front of him. Mirroring his mother’s posture. “Even so, I would stay well out of it. I am a political liability to him. If anything, our relationship may stall his career.”

“You are a respected potioneer with . . . a troubled past.” Narcissa excuses away with a wave of her hand.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Draco responds waspily, expression torn between amazement and disbelief.

“I don’t wish to argue.” Narcissa soothes, eyeing her son.

“Neither do I.” Draco agrees.

Harry stands and goes to pour himself more wine.

-

Draco is restless following the conversation with his mother. Fidgety in a way that is not typical of him as he changes into his pajamas. Harry figures it is the stress of the holiday. Ginny used to get weird about family time together during the holidays too. Harry is ready to settle in for the night when his boyfriend moves to straddle him after he lays down in bed. Fingers moving questioningly along the waistband of Harry’s pants, arse grinding suggestively on Harry’s groin.

“Yes?” Harry teases. Enjoying Draco not _not_ rolling his eyes and huffing. The fringe of his blonde hair blown back briefly. Harry chuckles as he leans up, pulling his boyfriend into an embrace.

It is lovely and unhurried.

Rocking against Draco is simultaneously maddening and wonderful. Keeping things slow. Enjoying being close. He kisses and nips at Draco’s exposed collarbone. Sucking a mark into the hollow of his boyfriend’s neck as his hands hold Draco’s hips so he can grind their erections together. Draco has an arm wrapped around him and his other hand at the nape of Harry’s neck. Tugging at the hair there. Meeting Harry in messy, prolonged kisses as they writhe together.

Every point where their skin touches is heady for Harry. He loves how Draco’s skin feels against his own. The way Draco’s muscles react instinctively. Flexing or shuddering at his touch. Fine scars and hair sparking contrasting sensations along his body but especially in his own scarred leg and hip. Loves the smell of them together as they begin to sweat and move more easily against one another. He wants to lick every inch of his boyfriend’s skin. Instead he focuses on kissing Draco. Breathing deeply through his nose and leisurely entwining their tongues as they snog.

If he had only known what it would be like to be with Draco so intimately he would have tracked him down years ago and shown up on his doorstep everyday until Draco agreed to be with him. He is so, so thankful that he followed his instinct to pursue Draco when they met again. Draco is achingly sweet. So loving. He left Harry twisting with desire for him without even knowing he did it.

“Draco.” He groans lowly after an indeterminate amount of time, breaking their kiss. Flipping them so he can be on top. Pressing Draco into the mattress and making his boyfriend whine. Rutting against him. Draco hooks a leg around him. Harry can feel Draco’s heel at his hip. Holding him tighter. Bringing them closer together.

Merlin, he loves being between Draco’s legs. All long and pale and cradling him. Harry rests his forearms by the sides of Draco’s head on the mattress. Ducking his own head down, not quite touching there as his hair falls forward. One of Draco’s arms bent at the elbow, hand gripping Harry’s bicep. Grounding him. Harry watches Draco’s flushed skin react to every move he makes. Pale and tan skin melding. Leaving reddening marks behind. The muscles in Draco’s stomach jumping each time Harry shifts. Grey eyes lidded.

“Are you close?” Draco asks voice low.

“Yeah.” Harry answers. Draco’s other hand reaches languidly down, grasping at Harry’s cock. Running a finger along the seam there as Harry fucks against Draco’s hardness. Harry moans, biting his lower lip. Nearly losing it for a moment.

“You?” He grits out, checking. 

“Please, Harry.” Draco replies sounding breathless.

Harry lowers himself to kiss him. Body straining as he starts to go faster. Kickstarting out of their slow pace. It is easy to let go then. Draco’s fingers caressing him everywhere. Creating currents of electricity and heat over and through his body. Soft, grunting noises emitting from both of them until Draco comes. Whimpering once and body tensing beautifully under Harry’s own. Expression euphoric and open in the way Harry loves best. Head thrown back and neck arching. Harry lasts a bit longer. Furiously rutting against him as Draco’s limbs clumsily lift to try to pull him closer.

His eyes squeeze shut when he finally comes. A rush of adrenaline and stars blooming behind his eyelids. Senses deliciously overwhelmed. He still feels floaty when he rolls dizzily off Draco onto his back, head pillowed by Draco’s trapped arm. He turns his head to the side leaving a kiss on Draco’s inner arm.

“Love you.” He murmurs to his boyfriend feeling sated and content. Wanting Draco to know how much he cares. How much he adores him. Body humming in pleasure from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

“Mmmhmm,” Draco hums his agreement, “Love.” He returns sleepily as Harry waves a hand to clean them and summoning their quilt from where it was bunched up at the end of the bed. Covering them. Leaving him warm all over and happy.

It is late and Harry is tired.

-

Andromeda and Teddy arrive via floo while Narcissa is gone to visit Lucius. He and Draco invited them once they decided on having an official Yule celebration this year. Draco had engaged in a fervent letter writing campaign with his mother the week before her visit to convince her to stay with them and enjoy Yule with their remaining Black relations.

Conversely, Harry simply fire called Andromeda and asked her straight out. He had expected a debate. They had had their share of disagreements over the years. But they have always respected each other. In many ways he owes Andromeda, she was the first person to teach him how to take care of a child. How to be consistent and good to them. How to change a nappy. So it was a surprise that she agreed with little fuss to spending the winter solstice with them.

There is an odd moment during introductions where Andromeda draws near to Draco. Intently studying his face, her dark eyes serious and a hand resting lightly on Draco’s cheek. An act Harry has seen her do a thousand times with Teddy over the years. He has long suspected that it is a form of legilimency. Merlin knows, Teddy gets away with so little. Draco remains perfectly still allowing it. Harry wonders what she sees.

“You are different than what I expected.” Andromeda finally says, releasing him. “I am glad to finally meet you, nephew.”

Draco clasps her elbow and kisses her cheek. “Thank you for coming.” His boyfriend greets, tone genuine.

The sprogs are excited. He figured they would be. This was an opportunity for early presents after all. He watches as Draco and Andromeda get everything ready. Working with the children to mix the individual spices and dried petals like an art project. Draco fills the cloth bags one at a time. Tying them to the Yuletide log in front of the fireplace.

He sits in one of the new armchairs Draco bought, watching the snow continue to fall outside and basking in the warmth on the inside. A sense of calm fills him. This is what he likes best about this time of year. It is what was missing from his childhood before Hogwarts. A family. Contentment. Enjoying being with people he loves. They are all in the sitting room. Christmas tree lit in the corner. Fairy lights and homemade ornaments decorating it. One of his favorites is a small one. A little snowflake framing a picture of him holding Teddy as a baby.

There is no one in the archway and then something alerts him, and he notes Narcissa standing there. Still and pale. Eyes roving over the people gathered. Landing on Andromeda. The children don't know the significance of this moment. Harry knows Teddy has some idea. That his grandmother refused letter after letter for years from one of their last living relatives.

“Andromeda.” Narcissa calls out, tone carefully even. Fingers clasping at the carved frame of the wooden archway. “Happy Yule.”

“Cissy.” Andromeda answers, getting to her feet. She reaches out an expectant hand to Narcissa. Who glides forward to take it. They stare at each other with such concentration that even the sprogs pay attention.

Harry imagines if he had not found the portrait of Walburga Black in the charred rubble of the main foyer at the manor, finally still and smoking at the edges and forever stuck in a hilariously unfortunate scowl with her eyes crossed; she would have screamed in a manner reminiscent of the time the Order of the Phoenix stayed at Grimmauld at the two women in her family attempting a reconciliation.

When the two women release each other, Narcissa takes a handkerchief from her sleeve. Wiping delicately at the corner of her eye. 

It is simple really in the end. Lowering the lights around them. Children gathered sitting cross-legged on the rug. Harry taps his wand to the Yule log and an orange flame engulfs it as he sends it floating into the fireplace to take its spot. The children watch as the flames dance. Forming shapes and whirls like a quaint television set. The aroma hits him next. The smell of spices filling the air and reminding him of those food markets he walked through on a mission once in India.

He and Draco dispense gifts to the children. It is a good thing too as they appear to be losing interest. Harry sits back on one of the couches with Draco and watches them excitedly open their gifts. He is glad the kids like their gifts. The boys immediately start comparing the weebler whooshes they got them with one another. Andromeda already warning Teddy he cannot return to Hogwarts with it for fear of using it as a boomerang. Lily is already cuddling with her new gorgon doll. Braiding the doll’s serpentine hair.

“What will you name your doll then, Lily bean?” Harry asks her curiously. His daughter had an extensive collection of creature dolls each with their own names she had chosen. She took pride in her naming abilities.

Lily looks around herself then back at her doll. “Narcissa.”

Harry face palms so quickly he feels the smack to his forehead before he remembers moving. Draco is chuckling beside him and when he lowers his hand, he enjoys the up-close view of his boyfriend’s delight. Expression open and grey eyes pleased making Harry’s heart flutter. He chances a glance at Narcissa who luckily also seems amused based on the quirk of her mouth and raised eyebrow. Andromeda is laughing outright next to her.

It is a good Yule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The alternative title of this chapter is Narcissa. This was a fun one to write. It isn't the holiday season yet but I wanted to include a chapter like this. There is something about holiday based fics. I'm a sucker for those across all fandoms. I know nothing about yule and have completely made everything up. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. I'm planning to move the plot forward a bit next time. I own nothing in the HP universe - only plots.


	15. The Pox

He was rarely sick as a child, but when he was it tended to be quite serious. Draco is aware enough to know what a glutton he was for his parents’ attention particularly father’s – but he never did fake illness while living at home. If he was ailing, it meant isolation and a potion bottle or two of truly unpleasant tasting Pepper Up or worse.

On one occasion when he was maybe five, he was feverish and weak for several days. Coughing and wheezing growing worse by the hour. Mother stayed by his bedside the entire time. Sending even his governess away and tending to his immediate needs. It was a respiratory illness if he remembers correctly. His parents had called several healers to no avail. He has vague memories of them poking and prodding him with their wands and being asked to drink even more medicine. All the while, his breathing got more labored and exhausted.

Father began to make noise about the potential that Draco had been cursed. Arguing with healers about something Draco did not understand. He remembers feeling embarrassed to have his father see him so poorly – like he was failing him. Then there was his mother. She always worried. He felt badly about distressing her. The strained expression on her face was enough to induce a further misplaced sense of guilt.

The next few memories of this illness are more fractured. He was asleep for a good bit of it. Then bundled up in mother’s arms and one of the last healers being with them. He remembers reading the word hospital on a sign. It was the first time he ever interacted with a muggle. Doctor - although he had no idea that was a title and not a name. One who listened to his chest with a cold metal device and inserted a needle briefly into his arm. Apparently, there was some medicine muggles had that Father had refused to allow administered to him. Of course, Draco did not comprehend this until years later. All the healers had recommended it Mother later admitted to him. Father had refused again and again.

Instead, Mother quietly saved him as she always had done.

When he started improving, he remembers Father puffing up like one of the peacocks that ran amok around the estate, telling Mother all they had to do was wait for the potion to build in his system to take effect. Mother had smiled and nodded along. Forever the good wife. She did love her husband. Truly and completely. Draco often wished she did not. It would be easier to ignore his sense of guilt where his father was concerned.

-

“I don’t feel so good.”

As a rule, he does not like to be woken up in the middle of the night. He is having a lovely dream about getting a shipment of rare Polynesian mandrakes when suddenly Harry is turning on the bedside lamp. The first thing his eyes behold is a green-faced seven-year-old boy leaning directly over him. Face contorted and paler than usual.

Albus duly vomits all over him.

He is certain he has not fed this boy beans. Why are there so many beans? Harry’s expression is completely disgusted as he grabs Albus up by the armpits and rushes him to their adjoining bathroom. Draco holds his soiled pajama shirt out in front of him. Wondering at his life choices.

It is not like he has never been thrown up on before, but typically more alcohol was involved. He removes the offending shirt, tossing it in the hamper and makes his way to the bathroom to clean the remaining mess on him. 

Harry has Albus crouched over the toilet now and it seems there is more left in him. Unfortunately. His boyfriend rubs Albus’ back as the boy pukes. Draco thouroughly scrubs his own arms and neck before going to take Albus’ temperature with a wave of his wand. Sure enough, the boy has a fever.

“Who fed him beans?” Harry asks somewhat aghast. Running a hand through his hair and grimacing.

Draco would laugh at that if Albus did not look so poorly. The boy’s messy black hair is sweaty, and his skin is clammy when Draco feels his forehead. Albus shivers miserably, frowning up at him. Green eyes distraught.

“I’m sick.” The boy states as if all the world has forsaken him.

“It appears so.” Draco concurs.

Harry runs a shower for Albus, and Draco goes to get medicine. He has several stomach soothing potions and fever reducers. Olta is off for the next week visiting family so he summons Kreacher to request a clean set of pajamas for Albus. Lily and James are still fast asleep when he checks on them. Hopefully, they do not become ill too.

A few of the Weasley cousins have been sick he knows. Colds and the like. The children would have been around them at the recent New Year’s party at the Burrow. Ginevra has had them with her on and off for the last few days during the holiday break. Last night she returned them late. All three happy and ready to have a good long sleep. 

He and Harry had put them right to bed. Now this.

Albus is tearful when Draco returns to the master bath. Frown firmly in place and brow furrowed. He is wrapped in one of their fluffy towels. Smelling much better but still unhappy. “I don’t want to take potion. It tastes bad.” The boy whines, eyeing the bottle in Draco's hand.

“This will make you feel better.” Draco advises as he produces a cup and pours the dosage for Albus.

The boy seems like he might argue but Harry crouches down beside his son. “You need to drink it to get better. No fuss, Al.”

Draco thinks that is that when they tuck Albus back into bed several minutes later. Already falling asleep and muttering to himself in the way he did sometimes when he slept. He and Harry trudge back to bed and try to get more sleep themselves. Harry practically falls on top of him as Draco lays down. Curling up behind him as Draco feels himself drift off.

Naturally, the children have purple spots all over them when they wake in the morning. Cockatrice pox. Harry contacts Granger on his cellular device and discovers the Granger-Weasley’s two children have it too.

It is a regular epidemic.

All three children itch and scratch. They are feverish and tired and cranky. James’ spots are huge for some reason which concerns Draco enough to fire-call a coworker whose expertise is in pediatric healing. It is typical for wizarding children to contract this pox at some point in their childhood, but the spots are not much more than the size of peas. James’ are the size of grapes. 

The plan had been to have Ginevra take them again at midmorning and spend the day with them at her cottage, but that gets nixed. Instead, Ginevra comes to Grimmauld to spend the day with her offspring. Draco finds himself torn. On the one hand, he wants to give the children time with their mother. On the other hand, Lily and Albus are adamant they want to stay by him and Harry. Albus even grabs onto his hand when he and Harry suggest leaving Ginevra to have some time with them for a couple hours. Expression teary.

It is impossible – Draco discovers – for him to deny them when they are ill. 

He has been around Ginevra a few times since beginning to date Harry but not for exceedingly long. She is pretty. She was always pretty. He knows this objectively because several boys in his year and the one below fancied her. In fact, the few weeks he had a pash on Justin Finch-Fletchley in fifth year, he had been privately devastated to discover the boy fancied the Weaselette. It was not like he had a chance anyways.

It is funny though. Ginevra has these expressions that he sees occasionally on the children especially James, but he does not know much about who she is as a person. Harry only ever speaks positively of her in front of the children and his friends. But the few times Draco cautiously asked his boyfriend about her, Harry gave short answers. Saying the two of them were better off as friends than as a married couple.

Today Ginevra is dressed in a large, comfortable looking wool sweater with leggings on underneath. It is an outfit he could easily picture on Astoria during a lazy day. Stylish but casual. He feels less well dressed today in comparison. It is typical for him to take great pride in his wardrobe. However, between Albus’ intermittent fits of vomiting and Lily fussing and demanding to be held wrinkling his shirt further, he finally conceded defeat. Instead, he dons some of Harry’s sweatpants and an old auror department tee, finishing the ensemble with his robe and slippers. Harry seemed to like it though judging by the double take he noticed his boyfriend make earlier in the morning. 

Lily is snuggled in her quilt on his lap, little socked feet sticking out and Albus between them tucked into Harry’s side. James is the only one content to lay his head on his mother’s lap and watch the animated movie Harry is playing on the televisior machine. The three little Potters fall asleep not even halfway through the film. Draco has seen this film several times now. It is about a muggle warrior woman in China. There are few ‘princess’ movies the boys are willing to watch with Lily and this is one of them.

After the movie finishes, Harry leaves to make them some lunch. Leaving the two of them alone with three sleeping children. Draco has already exhausted topics of conversation between them. The three topics being James, Albus, and Lily. He is contemplating asking after her work when she clears her throat. Getting his attention.

“I – uh, I want to thank you, Draco.” Ginevra hesitantly begins with a small smile. “I didn’t have a chance to the other night at drop off.”

“Whatever for?” He asks, watching Ginevra fidget with her sleeve. Eyes shifting between him and her son laying beside her on the couch.

“Jamie writes to me now,” She says softly, expression tight for a moment as if she might cry. “He never did before. I thought he was angry that I wasn’t there, but Harry told me how you’ve been helping him.”

“You’re welcome.” He remarks, perplexed. It was practical what he did, working with James. He is Harry’s partner. He helps with the children where he can. “James is the one who deserves most of the credit. He is a stubborn, hardworking boy.”

Ginevra chuckles. “No wonder Mum likes you.” She murmurs.

“Really?” Draco questions, disbelieving. He suspected, at best, Molly Weasley tolerated him for the children’s and Harry’s sake. It seemed to him that most of the Weasleys did. Whenever he was around there was still a certain amount of awkwardness.

“Please, Christmas day was ridiculous," She tells him with a put upon look, rolling her eyes. "All I heard from Mum was how wonderful you have been for Harry and the children.”

“Oh.” Draco utters, feeling embarrassed. He had no idea. “That is kind of her to say.”

“She’s a good mum. My mother.” Ginevra says mouth crooking slightly. “But she doesn't understand me very well. I think she believes the only way to be a good mother is to be there every day, taking care of your children – like she did.”

Draco tries not to cringe. Part of him has thought similarly but another part of him that sounds a lot like Astoria reprimands him for that line of thinking. There were many ways to be a good mother. His own was proof enough of that. 

“My mother,” He voices, unsure how this will be received. “Was my teacher and my protector. She didn’t really do the whole cooking for and playing with children routine – that was not how she was raised. My governess took on all the day to day care. Mother had . . . different hopes for me too.”

Ginevra nods. “My mum wanted a girly girl she could dress up and teach to cook and take care of babies. I couldn’t be that for her. I tried for a bit, but it wasn’t right for me.”

“I can understand that.” Draco sympathizes. “We have to be who we are. My mother wanted me to marry my best friend and pretend to be straight and live in the manor with her.”

“That would be . . . challenging.” Ginny comments. Sounding like she is restraining her amusement.

“Quite.”

They smile at each other for a moment. It is pleasant. Unexpectedly so. He did not anticipate them getting on this well.

“You make him happy, you know.” Ginevra states with surety. “I’m glad you’re with him. You are obviously made for each other.”

Draco stares at her. Taken off guard. His instinct is to thank her. Can he thank his boyfriend’s ex-wife for complimenting his relationship? Is that rude? This was the part in those novels of Astoria’s he secretly read that the former lover and the current lover would be at each other’s throats.

“I probably shouldn’t say that, right?” Ginevra laughs self-deprecatingly. “I’m the ex and all. But it’s true. I haven’t seen Harry so happy about something that didn't involve the children since – well, I don’t know when.”

“I – thank you.” He stutters. He was used to defending his relationship with Harry. Only a few of his friends – Astoria and Simone – were consistently supportive of them. “I love him.” He adds without thought and flushes. He was such a sop. It was awful.

Ginevra smiles kindly. “It's obvious Harry feels the same way. My children love you too, you know. I don’t want to freak you out too much, but I think we’re going to be in each other’s lives for a long time. I’m looking forward to it.”

Draco is at a loss again. Is this how Harry feels around her? Turned one way and then the other? He finds he does have one question though. “Do you mind me involving myself so much with them? Is it overstepping?”

“I thought I just thanked you for that exact thing and I think it’s unavoidable at this point. Considering you’re living with them. I’m certain that’s what Harry _wants_ too.”

“But how do you feel about my taking care of them?” He checks again. It is such a vulnerable question. He does not like opening himself up this much to someone he scarcely knows. But she _is_ the children’s mother and she _is_ in their lives.

“I am grateful to anyone who has my children’s best interests at heart.” Ginevra replies with an easy shrug, sounding sincere. “They are lucky to have you.”

He excuses himself a minute later. Going to the hallway to compose himself. Never in his wildest flights of fancy did he believe Ginevra would give her blessing in so direct a fashion. He finds Harry, tray in hand and another floating beside him, walking toward Draco down the hallway. His boyfriend smiles widely when he sees him. Hands him a cheese toastie and kisses him on the cheek in a fluid motion. Walking past him into the sitting room with the rest of their lunch.

Draco takes a bite of the cheesy sandwich and closes his eyes. Savoring the taste and the remaining sensation of Harry’s midday scruff scratching him from the kiss. Feeling contented. Ginevra’s perspective on him would not change his place at Harry’s side. He knows that now. But he cannot deny that her approval is appreciated when it comes to the children. It settles something within him.

-

Draco wakes the next morning - at a decent hour - to his handsome boyfriend beside him. Harry’s arm wrapped around Draco’s middle as usual. Body emitting heat and solidly comforting. Snoring lightly and drooling on his pillow. Covered head to toe in purple spots.

The children think it is hilarious. Draco is less amused. Harry seems baffled more than anything. Fever and itchiness wearing him out. Draco doles out medicine for each of his Potters. Harry makes a face at getting the largest amount, but he wisely says nothing against it at Draco’s sharp look.

“You didn’t get cockatrice pox as a child?” Draco asks bewildered. This was highly unusual. It was almost a rite of passage for young witches and wizards.

Harry scratches his side and head at once. Expression considering. “I lived with muggles. If I'd suddenly sprouted purple spots even Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would have taken me to hospital.” He says.

“Muggles can’t see them.”

“Huh.” Harry voices, scratching at his other side. “Well, I guess I just didn’t get them then, er – until now.”

Yesterday they had to get inventive to reduce how much the children were scratching and further irritating their skin. Going so far as to put oven mitts on Albus’ hands to stop him from scratching. Today, Harry has thrown all that out the window along with his shirt. Draco has long despaired at Harry’s unconcern about walking around the house in his pants and naught else. There is something about it that seems improper to him, but Harry is grown and if pressed Draco will admit he does not _hate_ it. In fact, there have been more than a few times it has been entirely delightful.

Albus and James are down to their skivvies by the time Draco returns to the master bath from putting Lily down to sleep after she passed out from her allotment of potion. He finds the boys literally scratching each other’s backs while Harry is filling the large tub with an oatmeal concoction similarly down to his pants. Draco is fairly certain Harry has gone quite mad, but he is also aware that oats can be soothing to the skin. It never occurred to him to bathe in them.

The man was bizarre and possibly brilliant. Draco will only ever admit to the former.

“It’s like what you’d do for the chickenpox.” Harry explains at Draco’s questioning look, pouring in baking soda. “It helps with the itching.”

“Now you’re just making up diseases.” Draco mildly accuses. Watching the proceedings as Albus delicately dips a finger into the tub, before popping into his mouth and wriggling his nose. James observing raptly beside him.

Harry shrugs. “I’ll show you online later.”

“Can I bring strawberries slices in the bath?” James asks the adults. “We put them in our oatmeal.” The boy reasons.

“Sure.” Harry allows.

“No.” Draco denies at the same time.

The two men share a look. It is one of their silent conversations. Draco knows his expression is exasperated but Harry gives him such an abused face in return. Lower lip slightly pouted in a near perfect impression of Albus’ wounded crup eyes.

“Fine.” Draco gives in, turning toward the boys. “But you should know it won’t taste like the oatmeal you have at breakfast. There is too much baking soda in it for that.”

The boys are unfazed and call for Kreacher.

Draco elects not to stay for the soaking after the boys clamber in. Water briefly going over the lip of the tub making a puddle. James and Al snacking on bits of fruit. Harry applying a liberal amount to his own arms as he sits on the counter. All of this is beginning to feel like a ludicrous fever dream to him. Instead he goes and lays down in an attempt to clear his head.

He wakes some time later to giggling and the sensation of being poked in the face. When he cracks an eye open, Lily is sitting on the pillow beside him and has her markers out spread across the bed.

“What are you doing, Lily?” He questions groggily.

“I’m making you match.” She informs him as if she is bestowing a great gift.

Draco goes to the mirror situated above their bureau and discovers purple dots drawn all over the side of his face. One is even heart shaped. Mordred and Morgana. What has become of him? He needs to review the importance of knocking on bedroom doors before entering with the children. Clearly. Harry is less than helpful. It seems to be a running trend for him today. 

“Looks aren’t everything, Draco.” His boyfriend says trying to comfort him and failing when he cracks up at the end. “I still love you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Draco sputters as he washes his face in the sink. Harry is in his robe, hands in his pockets. Openly laughing now.

“Papa _is_ handsome.” Lily asserts, stamping her foot. Hands on her hips in a manner reminiscent of her grandmother and glaring up at her father. “I put makeup on him!”

“Get permission next time, Lily.” Harry advises.

-

“I’m off after that week. I can take them then for a while.” Ginevra states, quill stuck behind her ear as she flips through her schedule book. “It’s just, I know I have some charity thing for the team in April when I’d usually have them.” 

The three of them are gathered in Harry’s office. Draco sitting at the desk with Harry’s calendars out before him. He had attempted to leave the year’s custody planning to them. However, thirty minutes became nearly two hours while Draco overheard Harry’s tone get crankier and crankier. Harry was awful at schedules.

Apparently, Ginevra was worse.

It is clear they had needed him. There are some circles in the world where he is famous for his organizational skill. Color coded highlighting charms are a specialty of his. Organization was a skill he honed to perfection throughout the course of his education and career. He has found great calm in creating steps and guides and schedules.

Harry huffs where he is sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs. “Our divorce agreement states you have to take them for at _least_ four weeks out of the year, Gin. The weekends you get them don’t count toward that. You have to figure another week out.” He prods.

“Can’t I just add another week into my rotation next year?” She suggests.

“I don’t want to do that.” Harry grouses, wiping a hand over his face. “Jamie’s going to be at Hogwarts before we know it and you won’t be able to make it up then.”

“Don’t get short with me, Harry.” Ginevra retorts, raising an eyebrow. “You know the only other option is to bring them with me on the road during tournaments. Jamie does all right. Quidditch is his life. But Al gets grouchy after a couple days and Lily is bored the whole time. Throwing wobblies every moment.”

“Ginny.” Harry begins tersely. “It’s not our job to entertain them.”

“We obviously have different parenting philosophies.” She returns.

Draco cuts in before his boyfriend can respond. It is probably for the best based on the lines appearing on his boyfriend's forehead. “There is a fortnight you have several home games, Ginevra.” He points out. “Perhaps that would work best?”

“When is it?” Ginevra asks, looking over the calendars on the desk. “Is it the May tourney?”

“It is.” Draco affirms with a nod, swirling his wand to highlight each of their calendars’ weeks accordingly. Orange for the children's stays with their mother.

Ginevra claps her hands once. “That should work fine.”

His boyfriend makes an aggravated noise and exits the room. He and Ginevra watch Harry go and share a look themselves. She shrugs, packing her papers back into her carrier bag. Draco sighs. It could take Harry a while to shake a bad mood and Draco had not seen him this annoyed in some time.

Indeed, Harry is irascible the rest of the day. The children even take note and give their father a wide berth. Taking care to behave and not try his patience. Toward the end of their night, once they are alone in the master suite, Harry begins starting several sentences and not finishing them. 

“She always -

“I wish, just once, she would -

“Why can’t I –

“As much as I enjoy our time together, my love." Draco interrupts, arranging his pillow how he likes. "I am less than interested in your unfinished thoughts.” He adds as they prepare for bed.

“I want them to see her. They miss her so much.” Harry voices quietly as he climbs in beside him, removing his glasses.

“They do see her.” He reminds.

“Is it enough?” Harry questions, moving to his side and resting his head on Draco’s shoulder.

“I can’t really say. But they love her, and she loves them.” Draco replies. “They also have you and their grandparents and about a dozen more Weasleys. They have quite a lot of people who love them.”

“They have you too.”

“Yes. Yes.” Draco agrees, patting at Harry’s head. Leaving his hand there and starting to scratch at his scalp. Really. All Harry needed sometimes was a good pet. He could be a bit like a crup that way.

“I guess I shouldn’t assume.” Harry says tone neutral. “Do you love them?”

“Of course, I do.” Draco answers somewhat indignantly. “I don’t really know the when or the how that happened, but it seems I am devoted to them – as I am to you.”

Harry holds him close at that declaration. Tucking his chin into Draco’s collarbone and kissing him once there. Then leaning upward to kiss him on the lips.

“Papa.” Harry teases when they break apart.

“You’re such an arse.” Draco complains, attempting to push Harry off of him in his faux outrage. Harry sees right through him. Smirking.

“She got it from that cartoon program I put on with the two dads.” Harry tells him, laughing and holding on tighter. “She’s been determined to name you for so long. All the other children in her class have names for their parents.”

“Draco is a fine name.” He huffs.

“ _Papa_ is better.” Harry argues.

He snorts at that, considering. “Maybe. I suppose better than her calling us both daddy and neither of us sure who she is calling.” He replies with a sigh, turning in Harry’s arms to face him. “I suppose you’re the only daddy.”

Harry grins wickedly at that. Eyes getting a mischievous spark. “I’ll even let you call me that special.” He flirts, waggling his eyebrows in that peculiar manner Harry was prone to do.

“I’ll call you pervert, thanks.” Draco counters. Unimpressed.

“I think I need to educate you about kink-shaming, Draco.” Harry tells him fake seriously, sighing dramatically which is ridiculous. Draco finds himself laughing so hard at that his face hurts. 

Harry only grins toothily. Clearly pleased with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This one was peak domestic. I appreciate all your thoughtful comments and kudos. As always, I own nothing but plots.


	16. Media/Auror Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry does some auroring, tries to go on a date, and dislikes people writing articles about him and Draco.

_Witch Weekly_

_Number 6 - The Elusive Odd Couple_

_The sixth couple on our top ten magical couples in Britain list is likely the strangest and most star-crossed. It is also the one with the least amount of information available to the public at large. Let us recap. Auror Harry Potter: savior of the wizarding world, internationally famous, all-around hero and boyfriend Draco Malfoy: former death eater and potioneer. No one saw these two getting together. We get rare glimpses of them even now. Pictured below are the few snapshots from public outings. It is assumed that Potter – who is well-known for avoiding the media – is the driving force in keeping this pair out of the spotlight. Potter’s statement confirming the relationship requested privacy and declined further comment. [see Potter’s statement in issue 87.9]_

_Reports from those close to the couple indicate they are currently living together. Enjoying quiet evenings at home and caring for Potter's three children. Is this the happily-ever-after we wished for our Saviour? Or is this another in the many adventures of Harry Potter? Time will tell!_

“Doge.” Harry grits out tiredly, stopping in his tracks in front of the trainee’s desk. “What is this?”

“A magazine, sir.” Doge answers immediately, posture at attention where he sits at his desk next to the offending rag.

“I know that, Doge. What is it doing here?” He repeats, leaning more heavily on his cane. His leg hurt today, and he was not in the mood for foolishness. It was cold out and he usually had more problems in cooler weather. The salve Draco and his research team developed helped immensely but it was not a cure all.

The trainee looks guiltily up at him. “It was in the break room.”

Harry sighs. The last thing he needs around here is another copy of Witch Weekly. He got enough ribbing for the media's interest in him from Robards and the other DHs in the off hours. Plus, Clearwater was already a notorious scrapbooker in the auror department. She thought it hilarious to put together a booklet of him in the news which she presented to him every year since she joined the auror department as a trainee. Doge’s copy at least didn't appear to have anything cut out of it. 

“Conference room three - five minutes.” Harry states, tossing the offending magazine into the bin.

“Yes, boss.”

The conference room is nearly filled by the time he arrives. Most of his squad, a couple trainees, and office staff filling out the rest of the seats. Twysley, his sergeant, and number two is at the podium preparing for the briefing. 

“Sir,” Twysley greets with a respectful nod. “We have a lead on the Spinner case.”

“Good.”

There was little better news at work than a break on a case. He stands slightly to the side and behind his sergeant as Twysley calls their squad to order. A tall, muscular man. Twysley dwarfed everyone in the room.

“All right, squad, listen up. First item, Hobbs and Ming, you two are following up on the goblin case. The rest of us will be focused on a raid this afternoon. As some of you are aware, Shepard discovered the location of Spinner’s hideout last night. Shepard, update.”

“Spinner’s mistress owns the lot it’s located on. The building on the street looks like a Starbucks – and it is one – but it’s also his hideout ‘round back. Apparently, this lady is _way_ more into Spinner’s side-dealings than we originally thought.” Shepard reports. He had spent the last three months as lead on this case, going undercover to infiltrate Spinner’s crew, and was eager to shut them down.

“Really?” Talbot cuts in, tone dripping in sarcasm. “Should we be surprised? The woman literally has her house elves in a warehouse in Camden sewing together knock-off Gucci sweat shop style.”

“Gu - what?” Hobbs questions, nonplussed.

“You make me sad.” Talbot retorts, turning toward him.

“Focus, people.” The sergeant interjects. “We’ve got hit wizards waiting for us.

The entire squad groans at that announcement. Aurors _hated_ relying on hit wizard support. They were back up for a reason. Aurors were considered the brains _and_ the brawn. Hit wizards were only considered brawn.

“Anyway,” Shepard starts again, resting his elbows on the table and sitting forward. “The intel we gathered indicates Spinner is due back there sometime this afternoon. Something about a meeting then.”

“Another smuggler?” Doge suggests, appearing too eager as he practically bounces in his seat.

“Not sure. Spinner and his lot seem too interested in holding on to dark ritual artefacts for that.” Shepard theorizes.

Twysley looks over to Harry. That's his cue. Harry steps to the podium. “We have reason to believe Spinner is only one branch in a criminal enterprise. If we can get him today, he may be able to lead us to the person pulling the strings.”

“Let’s go to tactical, squad.” The sergeant concludes.

The part before a raid varied. Harry takes the two youngest members of the squad with him and sits in the coffee shop in front of the hideout. Since its daytime they have all taken on disguises. Today he is an older woman so he can maintain use of his cane. Doge and Clearwater are transformed into a young ‘hipster’ couple. Waiting for Spinner to show on the unregistered apparation point Shepard discovered at the corner of the road.

“Then what happened?” Doge asks earnestly, forgetting the latte in front of him entirely and the mission at hand. Eyes bugging as Clearwater spun her tale. Harry attempts to muffle another sigh as he sits at a table a couple yards from them. It would break their cover if he reprimanded them now. He also suspects Doge legitimately forgot the squad was presently charmed to hear each other. Clearwater just had no shame. He admired and despaired about that characteristic in her. She'd been the rookie for two years now and was itching for Doge to take her place as the greenhorn. Although technically a trainee, Doge was likely going to be assigned to Harry's squad when the man's trainee probationary period ended.

“It was absolutely mad. When Talbot and I got there, the whole place was on fire. I’ve seen him in lots of duels before but never with a building. And that place was giving as good as it got like it was actively throwing trees and broken furniture at him. That manor place was angry.”

Being with the rookies was not always Harry’s favorite part of the job, particularly when they talked about what _he_ had done in the past. Usually it was about the war or auror work, but Clearwater had been especially taken of late by what she experienced at the manor that day Draco got trapped and he summoned the squad to assist.

“And DH Potter was all like _M_ _agni Patronum_ \- which is like a spell he invented? Hardly anyone can do it. Then all these huge stag patronuses were running around hitting the building with these huge booms. Shaking the whole place. I saw one rip open the front door with its giant antlers like a hot knife going through butter.”

_“No.”_

“Yes.” Clearwater assures her underling with a nod, caught up in her own story. “I’ve never seen him so upset. It was way worse than the time I accidentally filled that interrogation room with fish.”

“What happened then?”

“Oh, well, it was the third week of my trainee days and we had this perp –

“No, what happened next at the manor?”

“Ah, right. There was this blinding light and like an earthquake, then we were able to get in. One of the curse breakers got Mr. Malfoy out but he was in birdie form still. He did _not_ look good. Boss was real upset.”

The street is busy with pedestrians, but it is obvious when Spinner arrives. He is a loud apparator. Harry overhears Twysley on the communication charm caution the hit wizard team to wait.

“He’s here. Green team, move.” Harry commands. Causing Doge to jump in his seat and Clearwater to sigh dramatically at being interrupted. Those two were on crowd control.

Harry slowly gets up and exits the coffee shop. He watches a uniformed delivery person (Talbot) take his flank as they meander toward them. People rarely noticed the elderly or those in uniform amongst a crowd. Spinner is talking to a possible associate as they turn the corner behind the shop. Harry stops by a post box and Talbot pretends to deliver several packages on a dolly into the shop.

He leaves an imprint of the old woman where he was standing and follows them slowly down the alleyway. He watches Shepard – in his undercover identity – greet Spinner and the associate. They do not even wait to enter the hideout before the associate produces a container of something ash-looking and money changes hands. 

“Bloody hell, charred unicorn flesh _is_ hard to come by.” Shepard says casually, the swear triggering entry into their comms. It is the signal to move.

It goes quickly after that. Spinner puts up more of a fight than anticipated and a few guards pop out. Shepard takes him on. Twysley and Talbot charge through a back door in the building and deal with the guards. He spies hit wizards appearing in bursts on the roof and infiltrating the hideout. The associate turns tail and leaves, running directly down the alleyway toward him. Harry throws out a spell to prevent the runner from apparating. Letting the disguise he wore disappear. The two of them are in the briefest of duels until Harry disarms him. 

“You’re Harry Potter.” The man identifies excitedly, holding his hands up.

“I am.” He confirms, taking the man into custody. Wishing this exact interaction occurred less when he was arresting someone. It was the most awkward way to meet someone who seemed genuinely pleased to meet him. 

“Do you know who I am?”

“No.” Harry answers truthfully. Charming binds onto the man’s wrists and securing the confiscated wand. One ear listening as his squad intermittently confirms on the comm successful capture of perps and that crowd control is in place.

“What?!” The man’s expression falls at that admission. “Really?”

“You’re some associate of Spinner’s.” Harry responds.

“ _Some associate of. . .”_ The man sputters. Clearly upset. “I _am_ Burton Hollingsworth.”

“Okay?”

“You really don’t know me?” Hollingsworth repeats aghast.

“No.”

“The shadow of Scotland?”

“No.”

“The left hand of the Blight?”

Harry shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“The giant whisperer.” The man submits, sounding desperate.

“Humans don’t whisper to giants. They wouldn’t be able to hear you.” Harry points out. He knows that from firsthand experience with Hagrid’s brother.

“Just arrest me.” Hollingsworth says despondently, hanging his head.

It's a good bust. They are able to get Spinner’s mistress too. Clearwater and Doge managed that with minimal injury and no muggles any the wiser. Shepard does a little jig in celebration outside the interrogation room which amuses the rest of the squad. Harry leaves them to it. Hopefully, this will be a fruitful line of inquiry. 

There have been disturbing reports from Iceland and Norway of an underworld network being developed trading in creatures, their bodies, and dark artefacts. Evidence had been found of this network getting a footing in the north.

More than likely Spinner or Hollingsworth were going to be part of a catch and release in order to smoke out other members in this criminal network. Spinner was half pissed and irate, but this Hollingsworth bloke was deeply offended that no one seemed to know who he was. Harry had a feeling they could use that to their advantage.

-

He finishes his paperwork in record time, and leaves for the evening. He and Draco have plans tonight at some posh restaurant. It's a Friday night. The children are with their grandparents, and they will have the house to themselves later. 

Things were about to get wild.

“What is a crudité?” He whispers to Draco under his breath. The waiter just took their drink order and didn't seem too impressed by Harry’s request for the house red wine. Which is an eminently reasonable request in his opinion. He got a little uncertain when the wine lists were longer than his children’s bedtime stories. There were too many choices and he was never much of a wine person. Draco had had to save the day by ordering drinks for them.

“You and the children would call them ‘dippins’.” Draco drawls in reply, as he peruses the menu. Eyebrow raised, but expression amused.

“Oh,” He voices, thinking of the veg and salad dressing he would put together on a plate for snack sometimes with the sprogs. “Right.” He allows, feeling a bit like a fish out of water.

“Would you like me to order for you?” Draco offers.

“No, I can do it this time.” Harry declines, waving him off.

“Of course.”

“Quick question though, how do you get chicken satay or fish and chips here?”

“You don’t." Draco demurs with a small smile, eyeing Harry over the menu. "This is a haute cuisine restaurant.”

“I see.” Harry responds. This could be problematic. He may have to blindly choose and hope for the best. All the food he had seen brought out seemed small in portion and not quite edible in appearance. He much preferred heartier food.

Draco leans forward. “I believe you would enjoy their version of coq au vin. It is chicken and Pansy absolutely raved about it.”

“Well, if Pansy liked it.” Harry comments sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“I know you're mocking her, but the two of you have very similar taste palettes.” Draco intones, expression teasing.

“How dare you.” He cracks back. Reading through his options. He does really intend to see this out. Draco liked places like this and so did all his friends. If Harry had to overhear his boyfriend sharing another story with Astoria about baking dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets with their children, it would be too soon.

“Let’s go.” Draco announces suddenly, picking up his cloth serviette from his lap and putting it on the table. “Take me to the nearest food cart, Potter.”

“But you like it here.” Harry protests. “I can eat the cock vinny thing.”

His boyfriend chuckles softly. Grey eyes amused. “I'm much more interested in spending time with you where you don’t look like you're about to ingest a pickled flobberworm.” Draco states, extending a hand to Harry.

He is grateful to take his boyfriend’s hand and walk the block over to a food cart he knows for a fact sells skewered chicken satay. Their pace is slower which makes it easier on him. Draco’s hand is warm in his own. His boyfriend was not often willing to go along with public displays of affection so he tries to savor where he can. Tonight they were just another couple walking along the sidewalk. Pleased to be out together.

Harry orders for both of them when they get to the food cart and they make their way over to one of the tall tables scattered around. Draco carrying their drinks and Harry with the two baskets of skewers stacked.

“I’m glad we came here.” Draco admits after they eat for a couple minutes. “This food is better.”

“It is _so_ much better.” Harry agrees, grinning. Relieved that Draco appears to be having a good time despite their change in plans. It is chilly out still; but their coats, food, and drink keep them warm. Draco is stupidly attractive in his dark green winter coat and the silver scarf wrapped around his neck. Pale hair ruffled by the wind. Skin slightly pink from the cold. Leftover peanut sauce left on the corner of his mouth that his tongue quickly licks away.

“It's rude to stare.” Draco says after taking a sip of his drink.

“You’re so handsome. I can’t help it.” He flirts, giving his mock-saucy wink. The one that often made his boyfriend laugh. 

“Flatterer.” Draco accuses, but Harry can tell he is pleased. 

They enjoy their meal in silence for a while. People watching. It is classic date stuff for them Harry thinks, glancing at Draco from the corner of his eye. His boyfriend raptly watches as a street performer garners a crowd – juggling brightly lit batons. There is live music on the park square nearby. It's a nice change for them. Harry fears he has been a little lax in the dating department lately. 

It seems to him they have been acting more like a years-long married couple than two blokes who are newly living together and have been dating for several months. He supposed kids made things more serious. Still, he didn't want to lose focus on the fact they were a relatively new couple. The adventure of it.

“Did you ever think about me – after the war?” Draco asks suddenly, breaking the companionable silence. “After . . . well everything.”

“Before becoming your test subject?” He checks.

Draco gives him a ‘obviously’ look.

He has to consider that question. “You crossed my mind. Wondered where you were mostly. I knew you were overseas, but not where. I always hoped you were doing okay. Hoped you found something good for yourself.” Harry answers truthfully, observing Draco’s curious expression. “Did you think of me?”

“I tried not to.” The man responds.

“So, you did think of me.” Harry teases, unable to help himself. “Were they pining thoughts?”

“Hardly.” Draco denies mouth crooking in amusement. “When I thought of you, I felt guilty for everything that happened during the war. I figured you were happy though.”

“I was mostly.” Harry replies. “But you were definitely missing.” He adds, leaning in and kisses Draco’s cheek. Savoring the feeling of Draco smiling underneath his lips. Draco takes his hand again, turning toward him, and eyes flicking down to Harry’s lips.

“It _is_ you!” Comes a familiar, cheery voice. 

Oh, no.

“Hello, sir.”

“Boss!”

Harry could stupefy these three right now. The unkind part of him irritated that his time with his boyfriend has been interrupted. Draco’s expression is disappointed too for a half second, and then replaced with the mask of mildly interested politeness. Harry calls this look ‘the Narcissa’.

“Hello.” He greets them politely. It was unusual for him to run into other aurors outside of the ministry, but that was purposeful on his end.

Talbot, Clearwater, and Doge look inquisitively between him and Draco like they are exotic animals in a zoo. The three of them obviously dressed in club gear for a roaring night out on the town by the looks of it. Only Talbot seems appropriately abashed at approaching them. Her expression toned down compared to the other two’s earnest looks. They were young. He had to remember that. Talbot was the oldest at twenty-three and Doge the youngest at nineteen.

Draco shifts next to him.

“You’re Draco Malfoy.” Doge says all in one burst, practically vibrating and thrusting his hand forward in an open invitation to shake Draco’s. “You invented Serene Sunrise. My gran had dementia and she did loads better after her healer prescribed her that potion. She was able to sleep all through the night without getting confused and upset.”

“I-I’m glad it helped her.” Draco responds appearing taken aback, shaking Doge’s hand.

Harry raises an eyebrow at that. Intrigued. He didn't know much about Draco’s potioneering. Admittedly, his mind tended to wander when Draco talked about formulas and research methods. He was more familiar with Draco’s work with dark artefacts and their histories. He could understand the magics involved there. Was actually interested in them.

His boyfriend gives him an expectant expression. It takes him a second to decipher it.

“Oh right, this is Ephraim Doge.” Harry introduces, gesturing to each of them for his boyfriend. “And Amanda Clearwater and Cleo Talbot. They're aurors in my squad. You might have heard the children talking about Clearwater. She’s babysat for me before. You lot seem to know Draco.”

“You’re even more handsome in person.” Clearwater states, beaming as she rocks back on her heels. Excited. “The photo clippings I have of you do not do you enough justice.”

“Photo clippings?” Draco echoes uncertainly, turning again to Harry with a question in his eyes.

“Boss hasn’t told you about my scrapbooking? It's the highlight of his birthday every year.” Clearwater asserts.

“It is not.” Harry denies, giving Clearwater his most put-upon expression. It does little to dissuade her enthusiasm.

“He doesn’t want to show favoritism.” Clearwater mock-whispers to her companions. Smile cheeky. She reminded him of Tonks at times like these. It was why he put up with her. That, and her good work as an auror.

“Well, we won’t keep you.” Talbot starts, hooking arms with Clearwater and Doge and forcefully moving them backward. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Malfoy.” She ends with a deferential tilt of her head in their direction.

Draco nods in acknowledgement. “Likewise. Enjoy your evening.”

Talbot drags the other two away as they leave. Clearwater and Doge looking back a handful of times. His boyfriend looks over to him. “They seemed . . .”

“Like nitwits?” Harry suggests, feeling his evening has sidetracked.

“I was going to say friendly.” Draco says with a considering expression. “I didn't expect that from your coworkers – at least not towards me.”

Harry is aware Draco does not like most aurors, but they never discussed it much past that awful day Draco was hauled in front of the oversight hearing. It is something he's thought about a time or two. Unsure how to broach the topic with his boyfriend.

“They’re good people.” Harry says slowly. He believes it too. He wouldn't have them on his squad otherwise. “All of them are pretty young though. They haven’t been exposed to a lot of the red tape and bureaucracy within the ministry. None of them have lost someone on the job yet either. They still have ideals.”

“Which is not a bad thing.” Draco reminds quietly. “I imagine you are a big part of the ideals they have.”

Harry shrugs. “Maybe.” He hedges, not especially willing to pursue that line of thought. He never wanted to buy into his own legend. He had done a great deal of hard work. There was no denying that much. But people forgot how much of his success hinged on sheer luck and the friendships he had. The people he had lost. It made him feel very tired at times.

He shakes his head. Refocusing on Draco who looks at him patiently. Squeezing their joined hands. Harry feels himself smile a bit ruefully. “I think I need a vacation.” He admits.

“I might be able to help with that.” Draco replies smirking.

-

_Enchanter’s Digest_

_Charitable Chats_

_A number of celebrities agreed to a series of interviews in order to raise money for nymphatic lymphoma research. We – fortunate readers – had the opportunity to sit down with Auror Harry Potter and boyfriend Draco Malfoy. The Mercury Medical Clinic & Research Center, where Malfoy is employed, is one of the clinics on the forefront of research on this disease. It is through the clinic’s connection with the couple that we were able to secure this interview._

_This reporter was invited to meet the couple at the Malfoy family estate in the country. The manor, recently restored by Malfoy, is surrounded by manicured lawns and sprawling gardens. The main building displays the blended styles of Gothic and Tudor medieval architecture. Resulting in a succulent English landscape. The estate has been on the roster of wizarding Britain's historical buildings for the last four centuries. It is picturesque to say the least [see attached photos]._

_The couple greets us on the main drive up. Potter is dressed casually in a grey jumper and denims. Hair classically a mess, handsome dark face with trimmed scruff and scars cutting through it. He makes quite the intimidating figure particularly with all the scowling. Malfoy is in a crisp button up with dark blue blazer and khakis. His appearance more welcoming with his polite, more approachable demeanor. They make quite the attractive couple as our readers well know._

_This reporter is led through a beautifully cavernous entryway with arched ceilings into a sitting room filled with antique furniture, art, and thick carpeted rugs. One has the sense of being somewhere quite old and new at once. Elements of their lives and Potter’s children can be found everywhere. A child's drawing left casually on a chair, toys tucked here and there. Potter’s cell phone and a tablet on the coffee table._

_Interviewer: “What is it like to live in such a historical building, Auror Potter? This must be quite the change for you.”_

_Potter: “Not really. It's not that different from Hogwarts. We don’t actually stay here too often. Maybe a handful of weekends at this point. We’re mostly at our home in London.”_

_Malfoy: “London is more practical for us. I’ve been renovating the manor in my free time with the help of hired house elves that stay on here to run the day to day upkeep.”_

_I: “What will become of this place? Rumor is it will be used for large events.”_

_[The couple exchange a glance at that question.]_

_M: “Friends and coworkers have approached me to utilize the property part-time as a venue. I'm interested in putting this place to good use for humanitarian causes. I have also been in talks with the British Wizarding Historical Society to set up tours. The manor has never been open to the public and I hope to change that. The estate is a historical landmark and has been involved in several critical events in our history."_

_I: “Including the last war where the manor was used as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s headquarters.”_

_M: “Indeed.”_

_P: “Draco has worked hard to let people see this place. He wants complete transparency about what happened here during the war. The dungeons are like they were – I would know. There are areas that he has restored to how it was when Riddle was here. And there are a few other rooms Draco has refurbished to how they were during the vampire uprisings in the seventeenth century and the renaissance. This place is like any other of the ancient buildings in wizarding Britain, important events – good or evil – were always happening here. Anyone should be able to visit and learn about them.”_

_I: “Well said.”_

_[Since this is not a story on the war, this reporter elected to change the subject.]_

_I: “You two have shared little about your relationship with the public and many of our readers have been long interested in your love life, Auror Potter.”_

_P: “I realize I've been a source of interest since I was young, but my life now is really not all that fascinating. I’m just a regular bloke anymore.”_

_I: “Our readers would disagree based on the number of questions continually submitted to our paper about you. For example, the most frequent question our readers pose about you two is just how long have you been together?”_

_M: “Nearly ten months – since we officially started dating. We were spending a lot of time with each other before becoming serious. It seems like we have been together for longer sometimes.”_

_P: “That’s because we’ve known each other since we were kids.”_

_M: “Perhaps.”_

_I: “Who pursued who first?”_

_P: “Me.”_

_M: “Harry.”_

_I: “No disagreement there, I see.”_

_M: “We became reacquainted in a professional capacity, but Harry prompted further socialization. It was very casual.”_

_P: “It was not casual.”_

_M: “I was not aware of that fact until he told me he was interested.”_

_I: “Things changed then.”_

_M: “They did.”_

_I: “Considering the history between the two of you, I imagine there were some bumps along the way.”_

_M: “There were.”_

_P: “We're better for it.”_

_M: “I agree. I was uncertain for a while, but if we didn’t have to problem-solve early on, I would not be so sure of him.”_

_I: “What attracted you two to each other?”_

_M: [smiles] “Harry is a terribly patient and thoughtful man. I appreciate his good-natured jokes and his cooking. He is such a good cook. I never cooked before and he’s taught me a bit. He can be charming too when he wants.”_

_P: "Draco is a very kind person. He's handsome. I love his dry humor and his laugh. He's wonderful with my children.”_

_I: “Yes, what do the children think of Dad’s boyfriend?”_

_[The pair share another look.]_

_M: “They have grown accustomed to me. I don’t know how prepared they were for their father to date someone seriously. I’ve learned children need time to adjust to change.”_

_P: “Well, don’t let him fool you. I think my daughter has literally imprinted on him like a baby chick. The boys are close to him too, but he’s right, that did take some time.”_

_M: “I'm glad someone is here to record the moment you said I’m right.”_

_P: [groans]_

_I: “Auror Potter, a lot of our readers have found great inspiration in having an openly queer war hero and auror in the public eye.”_

_P: “That’s great. I hope people can feel more secure and open in their identities. If I was part of that . . . just wow. It wasn't something I considered when coming out. I’ve heard from a couple people since then how it helped them. If I had known that I would have done it sooner.”_

_[cont. on page 7.]_

“This could be a lot worse, Harry.” Draco comments, setting the magazine down on the side table. The picture of the two of them sitting for the interview is on top. They look good, but Harry prefers the more candid pictures he has of his boyfriend and him together. Those are not for the public. Those are for his home and office instead. They were more real to him anyway.

“Never make me do that again.” He demands from his seat on the couch in the master suite’s sitting room. Arm across the back of the couch. He never wants to read an article about their relationship again. If he can help it.

“I will do my best.” Draco promises. “But even you have to admit this had several nice moments - and it's for charity. Astoria says we have to give them something to nibble on sometimes to control the narrative so to speak.”

“Hmmph.” He huffs. But who was he to doubt the wisdom of Astoria Greengrass? Particularly when Hermione and his own PR agent had given similar advice. Again and again.

“They always write ‘and boyfriend’ before introducing me in these things.” Draco considers, sitting in the open space next to Harry and leaning his head on Harry's shoulder. “Why is that, do you think?”

“Well, you _are_ my arm candy.” He teases, literally putting his arm around his boyfriend.

Draco frowns. “You’re what?”

“You know, like my pretty, younger lover who makes me look good.” Harry explains, grinning. He loved it when Draco didn't get muggle phrases.

“But I'm older than you.” Draco counters, expression baffled.

Harry laughs. Oh, well. "Never mind that, tell me more about our trip."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thanks for reading. This chapter is just a short one.  
> It's fairly dialogue and plot heavy. Sort of interlude-ish. Shockingly, the next chapter will feature Harry and Draco abroad. As always, I own nothing except for plots.


	17. The Holiday

“You’ll have to let us know how you liked it.” Hermione says as the four of them stand in the foyer of the Granger-Weasley home, saying their goodbyes. “I’ve heard the food and the shopping there are superb.”

“Bold of you to assume we’re going to leave the hotel room.” Harry states with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows.

“Ugh.” Weasley groans, making a face at Harry. “You’re the worst.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, but her expression is embarrassed. Draco feels the same, briefly shielding his eyes with his hand. Although, privately, he cannot deny that a part of him wants to spend the whole trip sequestered away with Harry in their hotel suite.

“Sorry.” His boyfriend apologizes. Looking and sounding utterly unapologetic. “I’m just looking forward to adult time away from kids. No accidentally stepping on toys. No interruptions. No having to be somewhere.”

“Don’t remind us.” Weasley remarks woefully.

Leaving the children with Weasley and Hermione is more challenging than Draco anticipated. He would miss them while they were away. They were such a significant part of his life now. It helped to drop them off at bedtime, settling them into their cousins’ rooms. Lily did not even fuss like he feared she might as he and Harry tucked her in while she literally nodded off. James and Albus gave them sleepy hugs goodbye as Harry promised they would be back next week. Reminding the boys again to behave for their aunt and uncle.

“We really appreciate you two looking after the kids while we’re gone. If they’re any trouble - please call their mother.” Harry advises with a chuckle, giving Weasley a one-armed hug in farewell.

Draco hums at that, frowning, unconvinced that his boyfriend really meant that. He shares a look with Hermione. “It will only be a week and my conference is just the first few days. We will mostly be in the area the rest of the time. Harry has his cellular phone if you need anything.” 

Hermione gives him a reassuring smile and nod. He at least has confidence in her. Weasley was good with the children too if he is honest. It is foolish to fret. He knows they are well aware of his and Harry’s itinerary, but this is the longest he has voluntarily been away from the children since he met them. He feels slightly anxious about the whole thing. James has only recently begun initiating conversation with him. What if being gone causes his relationship with all of them to regress?

“You got it.” Weasley confirms, interrupting Draco’s spiraling line of thought, nodding to them both. “Besides, you’ll owe us babysitting duty in the future.”

The portkey out is an old muggle plane ticket stub funnily enough. Their luggage is packed and both he and Harry are weighed down by their carry-ons as they wait in Harry’s office at the ministry for their departure. Harry arranged it for their convenience. Sometimes it was nice to have an _in_ at the ministry. Draco is excited for their trip and looking over at Harry it is obvious his boyfriend feels the same. Grinning back at him. Green eyes shining.

It has been over a year since his last international trip and Draco is itching to go. He has grown used to traveling often in the last several years. Staying in one country for so long, albeit in his homeland, is unusual for him. Of course, he has a reason to stay now.

Harry takes him by the hand, and they hold the ticket between them. Watching the clock tick down to when the enchantment will activate. The familiar sensation of being pulled through time and space always leaves him a bit dizzy. Draco has _not_ missed the side effect of nausea from traveling by portkey. They arrive midair in a whoosh. Reappearing midair inside the domed portion of the Belgian Ministry of Magic’s travel department. He and Harry float easily down to the floor. Draco made certain he was on Harry’s right side in case the landing was rougher. Their luggage alights behind them.

“Bienvenue à Bruxelles! Welcome to Brussels, travelers.” An older, lightly accented ministry witch greets them. “Passports please.” She prompts.

Draco summons their papers with a wave of his hand. His own passport is rather travel worn although Harry’s has its marks too. The witch takes them with a cheerful smile, waving her wand over them for verification. Her expression transforms when she inspects their papers further. Doing a double take at his boyfriend. “My goodness! Harry Potter. Gracious me. And, oh, Draco Malfoy. I see.” She remarks, excitement dimming. Eyeing Draco as if he may be smuggling in some weaponry. “Enjoy your time in Belgium, gentlemen.” She ends crisply.

“Thank you.” Draco politely replies, accepting their passports back. 

Harry gives the woman a curt nod and the two of them are off.

-

It has been a long time since he was in Belgium. Frankly, he never stayed here long, usually it was a stop in between destinations. One of the nice things about being outside of Britain is that if people do know him, it is primarily for his work. Normally, only government officials glance at him twice once they hear his surname. Whether that is because of his past or his family’s own degree of infamousness he is never quite certain. 

There are several lectures he plans to attend. Some of the foremost witches and wizards in his industry have arrived for the European conference this year. A handful of his coworkers are here as well. His own boss, Healer Hargreeves, is giving a talk on his research in the healing properties of moss and dragon scales. A subject, despite Harry’s teasing, that Draco personally finds fascinating. He is glad to be an attendee and not a presenter though he has prepared questions for the Q&A portion at the end of a few lectures. He has been to many potion conferences over the years. All have been educational and at times provided useful networking opportunities.

However, this conference is different. The moment he sets foot in the main hall following the official opening, it is apparent the looks he is garnering are more frequent. Eyes shying away or quickly averted more than what he is used to experiencing. It is not until he goes behind the curtain of the Mercury Clinic’s booth that he overhears what all the fuss is about in English, French, and the smattering of Dutch he can understand.

It all boils down to this:

“Harry Potter is here - in Brussels.” 

“Here?!”

“His boyfriend is at the conference. You know the one – Malfoy – the blood curse researcher? Works with Hargreeves in London.”

“We saw them walking around the Grote Markt.”

“Potter looks younger in person - shorter too.”

At least, he is being noticed for something he does not mind: his relationship with Harry. Although, he suspects if Harry were aware of the stir they have caused, his boyfriend would be less amused. Draco certainly has no plans to inform him.

He reconvenes with Harry back at their hotel suite. His boyfriend is starfished out on the bed obviously relishing his time off based on the snack wrappers littering the bedspread and the flatscreen televisor in their room turned on to some inane program. A tray on the bed has a stack of waffles on it. Harry is clearly relaxed, down to his pants and a tee as he gives Draco a jovial wave – waffle in hand.

“You’re here.” Harry greets flippantly.

“I am.” Draco agrees, feeling amused. He raises his wand, getting rid of the mess. If they were not on vacation, he would be giving Harry hell for eating in bed.

“Don’t be cross I’m eating in bed.” Harry says with a mock pout as if reading his mind.

Draco goes to sit beside him. “I won’t – this time.” He teases.

“Waffles are my second favorite breakfast food.” Harry tells him between bites. “They're really fluffy here.” He adds enthusiastically, mouth full.

“I am glad you’re enjoying them.” Draco responds, smiling lightly at his boyfriend. He reaches over and rests his hand on Harry’s cheek, enjoying the stubble there and leaning in to kiss him. Harry tilts his face to meet him halfway. Lips tasting like powdered sugar. Perhaps eating in bed was not so terrible after all?

“Just let me finish this real quick.” Harry says hastily, finishing his food in record time and putting the tray on the floor, before turning back on his side to face Draco. Propping his head up with his hand. Dark hair a tousled mess.

He has the distinct sense Harry is trying to be alluring.

It is not like Harry needs to try. Draco is usually a bit overwhelmed still to be the focus of his boyfriend’s attention. Harry is all tawny skin and interested green eyes slowly checking Draco over. Teeth a pearly white as Harry flashes them at him again. Fully aware of how he affects him. 

Draco would usually take more care getting undressed, but he strips carelessly and practically throws himself on the man who is outright laughing now. A wonderful expression that accelerates his heartrate as much as the anticipation of being with his boyfriend does. Working together to remove his boyfriend's clothes. Harry wipes his hands on his discarded tee before pulling Draco solidly over top him.

-

The last lecture he attends is his ‘for fun’ choice. He tries to allocate time for one at every conference. Astoria and Harry would poke fun if they knew. This one is particularly stimulating as it is the first talk he has attended that focuses on teaching potions. Ever since he became more involved in the children’s education – particularly James’ – he has pondered how to begin introducing the building blocks of potion theory. It seems to him that other magical subjects are given ample attention in their curriculum in comparison. He can understand why – in a way. The combination of mathematics and multitude ingredient interactions is perhaps more than most teachers want to tackle with their primary school pupils, but he will persist. It is best practice to start early with potions. 

When he was a boy, his first potion textbooks were in Latin and rather dry. Fortunately, he had Severus and mother who aided in sparking his interest. However, he doubts the Potter children will be as willing to sit for hours on end reviewing the basic magical properties of most commonly used components.

The speaker is a primary school tutor for muggle-born children. She is very engaging. She reminds him of a young Professor Flitwick with all her zest and she has them all in a lively debate before too long. He can see how children would hang on her every word. It is a shame how sparse her audience is. In fact, it is just him and two other potion masters who appear to be the youngest people at this conference. Taking notes as quickly as they can. 

“As always, the question we should ask ourselves is what do children _need_ to know about potions before they enter their first year of secondary magical education?”

“The fundamentals of cauldrons types as well as the benefits and detractions of most common ingredients.” Draco states immediately. Obviously. What other options were there? Boggrum’s Theory of Unicorn Saliva? He looks surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye to the young wizard who suggested that poppycock. No thank you, sir.

“Yes indeed, Mr. Malfoy.” The speaker remarks, beaming at him. “That is a wonderful choice. I use a variant of that with my students.”

This is the part where Pansy would have called him desperate to have the professor’s approval – but it still feels good. Some things never change. And whilst he never plans to become a professor like Snape, he will be damned if the children go to Hogwarts ill prepared in the very subject in which he stakes his profession in.

He enjoys the final speaker for the conference. It is rare for him to appreciate both opening and closing remarks at these things. Perhaps it is because this year included a wider range of topics. Regardless, he is also excited for the excursion Harry dangled in front of him before leaving their suite this morning.

They are going to Paris tonight.

It is only a hop, skip, and a jump by means of apparation to get to Paris from Brussels. Draco is truly giddy. He has so many places here that he wants to share with his boyfriend that another vacation will be necessary to tour them all. He was going to propose they make a small trip there during their holiday, and he is pleased Harry has beat him to it.

The evening sky gorgeous by the time they arrive. The city lighting illuminating the architecture and making him feel nostalgic. Paris is one of the few cities in the western world where there is no distinct wizarding section from muggle. Everything is rather mixed instead. A stark contrast to how he was raised. All his childhood and adolescence were spent rigidly removed from muggles. When he visited France as a boy he was relegated to the family’s villa where his parents controlled who came and went. It was not until he arrived in Paris with Astoria years ago, that he began to interact with muggles on a daily basis.

It was one of the best things that could have ever happened to him. That first year humbled and expanded his worldview a thousand fold. Away from his parents' control for the first time. All his decisions his own. Every failure and success. He would not trade that experience for anything.

Harry’s calloused hand in his own is a grounding warmth. He feels simultaneously in the past and present here. Old cities were like that for him sometimes. It is surprising when Harry gently takes the lead. Draco thought he would be playing tour guide for the duration of their visit.

“You know where you’re going.” Draco accuses lightly as Harry winds them around the blocks to the front of one of Draco’s favorite restaurants. It is not Astoria’s restaurant, but he has been dining here ages before Dulce Verte opened for business. He has mentioned it before to Harry. More than once. It is a muggle place near the edge of the city. "How did you know where to find it?" He questions, touched by his thoughtfulness.

“Google maps.” Harry answers with a shrug.

Draco has learned what a Google is, and he can infer the piece about maps. Still this is impressive. It is all the more impressive when they enter and are led to a reserved table in back where he discovers his friends waiting for them.

“Simone! Astoria!” He exclaims, astounded.

“Hello, darling.” Astoria greets in her cheerful manner as the two women stand and accept Draco’s quick embrace of each. They are impeccably dressed of course. Simone in an azure, A-line dress that brings out the color of her caramel colored skin and a messy bun with Astoria dressed in a crisp canary yellow blazer over her silk blouse and a pencil skirt. Both seemingly arrived directly from work.

Astoria turns to his boyfriend, looking up at him, and grinning. “Harry, thank you for allowing us to intrude on your holiday. It's so good to see the two of you.”

“Thanks for inviting us.” Harry acknowledges with a gracious bow of his head.

Draco laughs. Elated. “This is a lovely surprise.” He earnestly tells his friends.

Simone smiles. “It is important to make time to visit with friends. Our lives are so busy anymore.”

It seems like as a couple, they spend more time with Harry’s friends. Draco assumes this is mostly to do with geography and the fact Weasley and Hermione have children the same age and are members of Harry’s family. He has no problem with this. If anything, he gets on swimmingly with Hermione. He and Weasley have also come a long way and maintain a standing friendly chess rivalry. However, there is a special quality to being around one’s best friends. It is akin to coming home after a being away for a while.

He would be less thrilled by their frankness with Harry if he were not so full of excellent wine and food. Merlin, he missed this place. There was no better food any where else in the world so far as he was concerned. Everything here was absolute magic.

“Draco was a talented bartender . . . eventually.” Simone explains to Harry as Astoria giggles into her cloth serviette. “It was challenging for him to manage all the drink orders and customers’ attention and that is very common at first. He was also rather afraid of the blenders for a time, but once he overcame those obstacles, he was fabulous.”

“It did not hurt that most customers were attracted to him too.” Astoria comments, cutting in.

Simone nods emphatically at that causing his companions to laugh. “The club manager would have fired him otherwise.”

“That makes me sound cheap.” Draco complains mildly.

It is a familiar story. How they met Simone where they all worked at the club. How they came to be friends. The three of them matured a lot in those initial years. Draco is well aware of how much change he underwent. He was such a broken person back then. His experiences in Paris with his friends, finally learning who he was and who he wanted to be. They all became the people they were meant to be.

“We were cheap though.” Astoria retorts, wine glass in hand as she gestures toward the three of them. “We lived in a hole in the wall that we literally magically expanded without the landlady none-the-wiser. If we had not brought in Simone as a flatmate, we would have gone back to Britain with our tail between our legs.”

“Speak for yourself.” Draco says. He was a potions apprentice too at the time. When he was not working, he was focused on his studies. It was always his backup plan to get work through one of his professors if employment at the club did not pan out. The pay would have been even worse, but he would have gone on. Somehow.

“I was going through a lot then too.” Simone adds, speaking directly to Harry. “I don’t know if Draco’s shared this, but that was early on in my transition, and I was fairly lost with what to do with my life.”

“Ah,” Harry remarks, plainly confused. “Transition?”

“I am a transwoman.” Simone states simply. “I was transitioning to living authentically as myself when I met these two, but I had not had much thought about what sort of work I would do. At Beauxbatons, I had been an average student and I had no family. I was more or less a wandering spirit in those days.”

He observes Harry take in this information. Automatically tensing for his boyfriend’s reaction. He can sense without seeing Astoria do the same. Simone offered this information casually near the end of dinner so she must feel comfortable with Harry and it was her choice to tell people. He would always honor that, but he has seen this scenario play out badly before even with people he liked. Draco can only hope Harry will be accepting of his friend. 

“I appreciate you sharing that with me.” Harry replies, expression kind. “I imagine that was a challenging time. I _do_ know a little more about being an average student with no family.”

Draco could kiss the man right here. He really could. Instead he takes hold of Harry’s hand under the table. He never should have worried. It is Harry after all. The man who is so accepting and loving it continually astonishes him. His faith in his boyfriend has always been reconfirmed. 

Time and time again.

“My mother died from dragon pox when I was five and, in this country, magical children with no family are taken in by the ministry and placed in an orphanage specific to their needs.” Simone delineates. “House elves ran the orphanage, and they were very loving. I am fortunate that they care little about sex and gender. I could be myself there, whatever that looked like, but I was not allowed to fully transition until I came of age.”

“I wish I could have been raised with you." Harry says, mouth crooking in thought. "That would have been loads better than with my aunt and uncle. They were awful. But, what made you get into designing though?”

Simone smirks at the question, leaning in. “I eventually realized we – all of us – are always changing. Why not look dazzling while we show the world who we are?”

-

Holiday Harry is something else. All easy and carefree in public in a manner Draco is unaccustomed to but relishes nonetheless. Taking pictures on his phone of local attractions and buying little trinkets for the children. Content to laze in bed and walk around the city. Walking together arm in arm. Enjoying the sights and sounds around them. Harry is a firm presence at his side. One that relaxes and intrigues. 

Harry is happy and quick to laugh and have fun at home, but Draco finds himself swept away being at the epicenter of it here. The feeling only heightened the second Draco’s conference concluded and they had four more days stretched out in front of them to spend how they please. When they were first seeing each other he often felt uncertain about Harry’s attention. Then, he had doubted his place at Harry’s side and if he ought to accept his boyfriend’s affection. If he deserved it. 

Now, all of that has changed.

There is no plan or serious forethought attached to his request. It is brought on more by the sheer amount of trust and arousal he is experiencing in the moment with this man whom he has fallen totally in love. The last few days have found them exploring each other slowly and frantically. It feels like a dream which is strange and completely wonderful. They have never had uninterrupted time like this with one another. There was always some responsibility or facet of life that diverted them. Now, Draco luxuriates in Harry’s undivided attention. Confident that Harry is as happy as he is and equally as focused on being together. The heady emotion between them is intoxicating. Everything is overwhelming and not enough.

It is late. They are back in their suite in Brussels and he is in Harry’s lap. Straddling him where his boyfriend is propped against the pillows and headboard. Draco drapes his arms around Harry’s shoulders, leaving his hands buried in his boyfriend’s hair, and kissing him deeply. Harry drags his hands up and down his back. Stopping their circuit to knead occasionally at Draco’s arse, pulling their groins into contact. It is one of the slower times. They had fucked earlier that day before setting out to sightsee. Only returning as the sun set and their stomachs were full of dinner.

His boyfriend nips Draco’s lower lip, pulling away to speak. “How do you want me?” Harry asks, voice low. “We can try over the couch again.” He propositions with a smirk.

Draco considers this. It had been fantastic bending Harry over the back of the couch and having his way with him and he _does_ want to do that again before they leave, but not now. Instead, Draco wants to propose something new. 

“I – could we?” He questions making careful eye contact with his boyfriend, suddenly feeling nervous. He wraps a hand around Harry’s cock. Feeling how hot and hard it is in his hand. Wondering at how bold he has become.

“What?” Harry prompts, expression interested and curious.

He can say anything to Harry, he knows this truth to his core, but it is taking him a moment. It is ridiculous to be hesitant. He has been sleeping with this man for several months and living with him to boot. Surely, he can ask for this. 

“I want to try . . . you inside of me.” He requests evenly, observing Harry’s reaction.

Draco is not disappointed.

“Yes!” His boyfriend agrees enthusiastically, eyes widening that much more, and grin growing wicked. The heat of his gaze makes Draco shiver. The man really should have been a Slytherin. Gryffindors should never appear so calculating. 

Harry catches him in a fiery kiss again and they both moan into it as his boyfriend begins to finger him. Lubed hand opening Draco slowly. Draco is used to that sensation. Revels in its intimacy. Harry has brought him off like this more times than he can count. Sending delicious sensations throughout his body as they snog. They go like that for a long time until Harry adds a third finger making him feel fuller than ever before as he takes a shuddering breath.

“You okay?” His boyfriend checks, using his free hand to rub at Draco’s back while his fingers incrementally widen, twisting and, pressing in to tease his prostate. The whole process has him panting, but it is good. He wants this.

“Yes, thanks.” Draco responds huskily, trying to keep his hips still. “Keep going.” He orders.

"Bossy." His boyfriend cracks back, before catching him in a kiss again.

Eventually Harry moves forward, helping Draco lay back on the soft bed linens as his boyfriend settles between his thighs. Draco watches as Harry’s dark hair falls forward and he tucks it behind the man’s ear. Resting his hand at the nape of Harry’s neck and playing with the hair there. His boyfriend’s expression is all desire as he removes his fingers and wraps them around his own erection. Muttering the lubrication charm again as he coats himself. Draco has an odd sense of déjà vu at the change in their positions.

They work together to reposition as Harry angles him upward, rearranging Draco legs to hook them loosely around his waist. It strikes Draco how comfortable they are with each other. How calm and intimate it feels to be in this bubble with Harry. The warmth of his skin, always warmer than his own, and the intensity of his green eyes engulfs him.

“You’re gorgeous this way, you know.” Harry compliments breathlessly as Draco feels the head of his boyfriend’s cock at his entrance. The muscles of his stomach jump as the man lowers himself and slowly presses in. “I’m so lucky to be with you.”

It does feel strange. Not unpleasant by any means. Draco certainly is a fan of this act when he tops, but he always wondered what Harry liked so much about it. Bottoming always seemed much more vulnerable to him. He was afraid of it and any possible pain. His hesitance is greatly diminished by his boyfriend’s careful movements and the reassuring hand that is stroking his side. 

Harry holds himself absolutely still the second Draco stiffens, erection flagging.

“I can pull out.” Harry murmurs, watching him carefully.

Draco waits, taking a deep breath. Taking stock. He does feel very full and he has the urge to push back, but it does not hurt. If he can continue without pain he wants to. “Are you all in?” He questions.

It seems like Harry wants to laugh at that by the way his eyebrows shoot up and the corner of his mouth crooks. Expression an unusual combination of incredulous and passionate. His boyfriend shakes his head. “No, here, let me.” He says, taking Draco’s hand and guiding it down where they are connected. “I’m just past that ring of muscle there. That’s what might hurt. Are you sure I don’t need to pull out? Maybe we need to stretch you more?”

“You do three fingers.” Draco points out a tad affronted. Harry only needed three fingers at most when they did this. Often managing with two. His boyfriend was not that massive, maybe a little wider than Draco but not by much and they were basically the same length. “I can do it.” He asserts.

“This isn’t a competition on who can bottom the quickest.”

“Of course not.”

“I’d win anyways.” Harry teases, ducking when Draco lightly cuffs him. “Just breathe, Draco. You’re doing fine.”

Draco huffs, blowing the strands from his own hair out of the way. But he does listen. Focusing on breathing through his nose down to his diaphragm. It is not like he can retort. Harry is the expert here. His boyfriend starts pressing incrementally forward while leaning down to kiss Draco soothingly. Only breaking the kiss to nibble at Draco’s neck, licking the mark he leaves there.

The next time Harry pauses his movement, Draco feels the man’s testicles resting against his arse. He reaches down like Harry had him do earlier and confirms it. He feels completely full this time. Body buzzing and trying to discern multiple sensations at once. It is a lot. Harry has one hand at Draco’s lower back massaging and the other behind Draco’s head. Cradling him almost. Then Harry readjusts, nudging at Draco’s prostate in a manner that is simply spectacular. Causing his whole body to twitch with the most fantastic sensation. His cock is definitely interested in the goings-on now. Their bodies moving languidly with each other as Harry moves slowly, eyes on him. 

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Draco exclaims when Harry pushes more forcefully in, looking into his boyfriend’s beatific expression.

Harry presses a kiss into Draco’s temple. Smiling like a loon. “That’s right, sweetheart.” His boyfriend croons in a rough voice. “This is why it’s good. You just tell me how fast you want it.”

It is like being lit from the inside out. Stronger than any euphoria elixir he has ever tested - and he has tested his share. If he was going to have a burst of accidental magic it would be right at this moment. He groans into Harry’s open mouth as they kiss messily. Digging his hand into the man's thick hair as he pulls them closer. Harry moves steadily, hitting his prostate just right, cock dragging along inside him and pressure building between them. Maintaining a rhythm as Draco begins to press upward to meet him, clutching at his boyfriend’s back. He can feel Harry caressing him, holding him. Fucking, Merlin.

“Can’t believe.” Harry says sounding frenzied when they break for air, forehead touching Draco’s shoulder as he keeps moving. “All mine. My Draco. Mine.” He chants, rambling. "Want to be in you forever. Mine."

“Yours.” Draco replies mindlessly. Eyelids fluttering as his body moves automatically. Currents of sensation flooding him from all sides. Thoughts held off as he puts all his efforts into chasing that particular sensitive exploding feeling.

“So bloody tight. Fuck.” Harry moans. His fingers tightening where they touch.

It is vulnerable. That much is true. But it is also wonderful. The warmth of it like basking in the sun. Golden and hot and perfect very nearly like the first time he successfully transformed into his animagus form. Harry stops their kiss and swiftly scans his face as they continue to crash into one another. Grunting in pain like it hurts to be drawn away. Green eyes concerned and dilated.

“You good?” Harry questions, brow furrowing. "Talk to me."

“Feels – yes.” Draco answers, trying for some coherency and failing. “Love you. Faster. Please.” He groans out. Whining, until Harry brings their lips together again. Complying with his request.

If he could remain suspended in this he would, but soon it becomes unbearable. All he wants to do is come. The pressure in his body increasing at an absurd rate until he crests and finishes. It feels like his body is shaking apart and being reassembled by Harry. If he is completely honest, it is the most intense orgasm of his life. There are black spots in his peripheral vision.

Harry does not last much longer and with a few more pumps of his hips, his boyfriend’s body jerks as he comes too. Body curling forward and arms tightening around Draco. It is unexpected how empty he feels when Harry gently pulls out and moves to lay on his back. Draco closes his eyes. Focusing on the trembling sensation that is left within him. 

“I want to say for the record that was very, _very_ good.” Harry rasps out, still breathing hard. “Please tell me we can do that again.”

“We can.” Draco agrees readily, turning his head. He watches Harry run a shaky hand over his face. Chest rising and falling until he evens out. Circe, he loves this man. Harry returns his gaze after a moment, expression affectionate.

“How do you feel? You okay?” Harry asks again.

“I’m fine.” Draco replies, feeling oddly emotional. Harry twists to the side and throws an arm over him, cuddling in close, basking in the afterglow. Draco trails his fingers over his boyfriend’s forearm. Considering everything. “I'm great, actually. I – I realize this sounds sappy, but I am glad that I could have that with you – the first time like that I mean.”

“That is very sappy.” Harry echoes, placing a chaste kiss on Draco’s cheek. “But I’m for it.”

-

They spend their last night in Brussels walking along the boulevard. The last couple days spent wandering around and enjoying each other’s company. Half fulfilling Harry’s declaration to his friends earlier that they would not leave their hotel suite. Still, he likes experiencing new things with Harry outside the bedroom too. Draco had particularly appreciated the chocolate tasting they went on. He had bought a lot of sweets. They planned to share a portion of them with the children but stash the remainder away for themselves. Harry assured him this was a normal parenting practice.

“What would you say to me buying you a ring?” Harry asks abruptly, tone casual. 

“Does it have protective and tracking charms on it?” Draco rejoins, raising an eyebrow. His boyfriend’s gifts were often aesthetically pleasing and, more practically, protective in nature.

Harry cringes, expression caught. Obviously thinking through his response. “Maybe.” His boyfriend hedges, stopping them in front of a public bench, and pulling Draco to sit down beside him.

Draco feels himself crumble at Harry’s keen expression. “I wouldn't say no to another token of your affection, but I always wear the watch you gave me. It has quite a few protective charms on it already. That’s not even including the cuff links I wear at formal events.”

“Let me rephrase,” Harry starts, raising his pointer finger. “I want to give you a ring because we are committed to each other and because I want people to stop hitting on you.”

“This is about the waiter.” Draco states dryly.

“ _This is about the waiter._ ” Harry confirms scowling.

Draco sighs. “Jurgen was just being attentive, Harry. It’s his job.”

“Well, _Jurgen_ , needs to keep his hands to himself.” Harry complains with a frown, crossing his arms, reminding Draco sharply of the boys.

“I don’t get jealous when people fall all over you.” He reasons. Harry could be very jealous. At first, Draco found it charming, but it has worn its appeal over time. Particularly after the incident at Eeylops Owl Emporium with the clerk who was just trying to sell him some organic food pellets.

His boyfriend harrumphs, indignant. “No one has that amount of intense eye contact with me _and_ puts a hand on my shoulder at the same time without wanting in my pants.” Harry argues.

Draco pauses, processing Harry’s perspective on the matter.

“That is not the worst point you have ever made,” Draco admits. Reflecting on the earlier interaction at the pub. Perhaps Harry was right. He missed romantic social cues on occasion. Astoria has teased him about that forever.

“Thank you.” Harry responds cheekily. “And although I was _going_ to wait to give this to you, I might as well right now.” He says, digging a hand into his coat pocket. Harry pulls out a sleek-looking ring box, passing it over to Draco. 

It is a beautifully wrought silver ring with a Celtic knot pattern engraved onto its outer surface. The inside of it has an etching of a roaring lion and a serpent posed to strike. He can detect some of the charm work inlaid on it, but he is not entirely certain the extent of it. The whole thing is incredibly thoughtful, and he will cherish it forever.

“Where did you get this?” He voices, trying it on. Admiring how it looks on his finger. The comfortable fit of it. He was not really a ring person, but for this he will make an exception.

“I stumbled upon a jewelry shop in the wizarding section of the city when we first got here.” Harry divulges, obviously pleased by Draco's positive reaction. “La Breloque it’s called. The metal worker there is really gifted, and I commissioned her to make this. She even let me cast most of the protection charms too. What do you think?”

“I love it.” Draco responds sincerely. “How many charms are in it?”

“Seven.” Harry informs him, looking proud.

“That is some marvelous spell work.” Draco comments, impressed. The most charmed jewelry typically could hold was five active spells. Seven was ambitious.

Harry grins. “I thought you would like it.” He preens.

Draco leans in to kiss him. “You spoil me, my love.”

“Well, I try.” Harry replies with an exaggerated put upon tone, putting his arm around the back of the bench as Draco moves to sit closer to him.

“I should really get you something too.” Draco voices. His gifts to Harry tended to be pragmatic, but perhaps it is time he gets him something more sentimental. “You’ve given me all this – what did James call that necklace of Pansy’s the other week?”

“Bling.” Harry supplies with a guffaw.

“Yes, that, _bling_. Where does he get these things?” Draco ponders aloud, shaking his head. Honestly, he did not understand half the things James said slangily.

Harry’s expression is soft, smiling at him. “I love you.” His boyfriend tells him.

“Yes, I love you too.” Draco returns equally tender. It is remarkable to him every time they profess this to each other. Amazing, really. Grey eyes meeting green in such a heartfelt manner. Draco did not expect to become a hopeless romantic. “Thank you.” He repeats. 

He is forever grateful for the ring, for Harry’s love, for all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thanks for reading! I appreciate the continued interest in this series. I own nothing but plots! Silly as they are. Thanks.


	18. Future Talk/Past Talk

“Potter.” Professor McGonagall reprimands in her terse, Scottish brogue. Peering over her spectacles at him from the podium on the dais of the transfiguration classroom. “Pay attention. You might need to know this someday.”

He doubts very much he will need to know how to transfigure a piece of metal into a skeleton key. The Alohomora charm worked just fine. 

“Yes, professor.” Harry concedes, subdued. He shares a dubious glance with Ron and pretends to begin taking notes again. His head is just not in it today and Hermione will let him copy her notes later anyways.

Malfoy snickers two rows ahead, looking covertly back at Harry sneering. Merlin, he hates that prat with his stupid blonde hair and pointy face. Harry glares at the back of Malfoy’s sleeked back head until he begins to feel better. The class ends several minutes later. He gathers his stuff quickly and exits the classroom. His mood improves dramatically as he spends the free period with Ginny out by the Great Lake.

They have a limited amount of time together. Everything is a mess this year. Malfoy is up to something suspicious and Dumbledore is being evasive. Ginny is the only steadily good thing in his life right now. She sets a blanket out for them by the shore where they lie together with their hands loosely entwined. It is a secluded little area they have run off to more than once during the day. Hardly anyone goes further past the brambles to this part of the shoreline.

“But what is he doing?" Harry thinks aloud. "He completely disappears off the Marauder’s Map. How does he do that?”

Ginny sighs, appearing put out. “This again?”

“I have to figure it out.”

She turns, leaning over him. Her hair falling forward as she whispers, “Maybe I can distract you for a while.”

He really likes snogging. Loves it really. The only other activities that fully distract him are quidditch and sex. Lucky for him, Ginny has similar interests. She is the best girlfriend a bloke could have. She smells great no matter what they're doing. Ginny is soft and firm as she holds herself against him. Her fingers pressing and rubbing along his body in ways that have him writhing. When they separate, panting for breath, Harry wills his erection down. Ginny is _not_ okay with shagging outside of the abandoned classrooms near the Gryffindor common room they sneak out at night to visit. 

No matter how nicely he asks.

Dinner that night is a decent distraction too. Although he does find his eyes wandering over to the Slytherin table every few minutes. Observing Malfoy’s long, pale fingers using his steak knife and fork to cut up his food. The posh idiot doesn't seem hungry though. All he does is move food around his plate. His expression is dour again and he's ignoring Parkinson even after her third attempt to draw him into conversation.

Harry’s dreams are a confused mishmash of everything going on. He is searching for his potions book so he can pass his exam. Running into members of the Order of the Phoenix at every wrong turn down a corridor. All of them pointing him the wrong way to the Prince’s book. At one point, he is under the invisibility cloak approaching Slughorn asleep at his desk. The book laid out in front of him. Harry sneakily grabs the book once Slughorn turns to the side in his chair and resumes snoring. His heart beating fast from the risk of being caught. The room seems to sway around him and transforms into one of the old, dusty abandoned classrooms. Pitch black except for one guttering candle and his girlfriend standing in front of him. Smiling at him with an enticing expression.

Ginny lightly pushes him backward and the invisibility cloak falls around their ankles as Harry sits back on the surface of the desk. She steps between his legs, placing a confidant hand on his shoulder as they lean into each other to kiss. It could be any other night then. Stripping each other and triple checking that the protection charms they're using are active.

The next thing he knows they are on the floor. Snogging and panting in their haste. Everything is euphoric until Ginny pulls away suddenly. Expression enraged.

“What?” Harry asks, totally confused.

“Why are you so obsessed with him?!” Ginny accuses hotly. “You can’t stop thinking of him even now?!” 

Harry sputters. Scrambling to think. Who is she talking about? There was so much going on. The war. Their friends. Classes. Malfoy. He had to find out what Malfoy was hiding. Where was he anyway? A warm puff of air hits the back of his neck startling him and causing him to jerk around on his back.

Malfoy is there. Stretched out supinely beside them, raising one elegant white blonde eyebrow. Grey eyes twinkling in a way that makes his stomach swoop. And why was Malfoy not wearing a shirt?

“Yes, Potter, why _are_ you obsessed with me?” Malfoy drawls, dragging a finger up the middle of Harry’s chest. Making him twitch.

Harry wakes with a gasp. Sitting straight up in bed. His whole body in a cold sweat. Bloody hell that was a terrifying nightmare. He falls back to his bed with a thump. Blowing back the hair that fell into his face. It is clear what is happening here. 

Malfoy is obviously driving him mad.

He absolutely _had_ to discover whatever that prat was up to.

-

It's been maybe six years since he last went on holiday. The last one was a Weasley family camping trip. Al was a little over one at the time and Jamie was three. He wouldn't exactly call that holiday relaxing. It was fun, sure, but relaxing – not at all. The whole thing was focused on the kids and family bonding and all that. He liked that bit, but Ginny was tense the entire time. She had had a row with Molly before they left; and Harry was more often on the receiving end of Gin's frustration at the end of each day. It got to the point he was avoiding being alone with her and then Ginny was mad at him for that and _they_ had a row.

The holiday with Draco is a weeklong, self-indulgent trip. He misses his children, but he does not miss being the authority figure at home and work. Here he can just relax and enjoy being with his boyfriend. When Draco is not there he sleeps in or follows his nose to the nearest delicious smelling aroma. It has been a rare thing in his life to while away the hours leisurely doing whatever he wants. Napping. Beer tastings. Shagging Draco. Those are some of his favorite activities. He barely even hurts here. Maybe because he is on his feet less? He's not sure.

He was not exactly planning to get Draco a present. It never seemed to really be planned when he found him something. The cufflinks and watch weren't either. Those were all borne from his gnawing need to give his boyfriend additional protections. Draco can take care of himself. Harry knows that logically and practically. But Draco doesn't have to do it on his own anymore. Harry is here now, and his boyfriend takes care of him too.

“Are you going to be popping the question with this one?” The metalworker asks as they stand at the check-out counter in the shop. She drops the ring solidly in his hand and summons the box for it. Receipt ticking out of the register.

“What?” Harry voices, confused.

“This is an engagement ring, right? Protective rings usually are.”

“No – well, er no.” Harry answers in a rush. Examining the ring in the palm of his hand. Lightweight and smooth. A vague sense pokes at him as he runs a finger around its circumference. Protection spells making themselves known like a nice, warm summer breeze. “Maybe?”

When he got engaged to Ginny, it had seemed the obvious thing to do. It was the next step. Everyone was expecting it. Asking again and again when it would happen. The press. Their friends and family. Even people he didn't know. It was supposed to be the happily ever after everyone wanted. They had been dating seriously for a couple years. They were in love. He wanted a family. 

Easy peasy. 

It's not as obvious with Draco, but nothing ever was. There is no doubt in his mind he wants to be with this man for the rest of his life. They aren't perfect. No couple is. But they are right for each other. If they got married, it would purely be for them.

There is never going to be a time where he is not _completely_ mad for Draco. The last few days on holiday in particular are bloddy fantastic. It's like they cannot get enough of each other. Harry has a healthy libido. He knows this about himself. They enjoy a healthy sex life. But here, free from any immediate responsibilities when together, they rarely separate. Easy in each other’s affection. The certainty they have in one another. It's addicting.

“Love you.” Harry murmurs, peppering kisses over Draco’s torso moving upward to his neck. Savoring the feeling of his boyfriend’s shuddering in his wake. Chest rising and falling in quick succession. Clearly very affected by the attention.

Draco has a besotted expression when Harry looks up. All messy pale blonde hair and sweet smile. “I love you too.” The man returns softly, lifting a hand to cradle the hinge of Harry’s jaw, prompting him to turn slightly and kiss Draco’s palm. His boyfriend embraces him, wrapping his arms around him. Harry feels Draco lever himself to flip them so Harry is now on his back. Chuckling as they go. His vision filled with Draco’s amused face. Grey eyes content and loving. Skin littered with red marks and bruises caused by Harry they have yet to heal.

Even here, Harry aches for him still. Running his hands over Draco’s strong shoulders and arms. It is not the hot, desperate need they have indulged in recent days. Harry has never felt this. This constant flow of want. It is beyond infatuation, love, and desire to be near Draco. Moving toward each other with equal tenderness. Laughing lightly again when his boyfriend teases him by nipping at his ear before sliding down Harry’s body.

In the end, he does not propose. It is on the tip of his tongue, watching Draco smiling and trying the ring on while they are out. Expression utterly pleased by the gift. All of it directed at Harry. He soaks the whole thing in. Certain, that if he does ask one day, he wants it to be during a moment like this one. 

Where it's just the two of them.

-

“What are you doing?” Harry questions curiously as he walks into the sitting room at Grimmauld to see his boyfriend sitting on their couch, hunched forward. He approaches, peering over Draco’s shoulder to discover the man brushing out Lily’s hair, dividing it into distinct sections. Small yellow hair ties set on the coffee table beside them.

“Braiding.” Draco replies distractedly, hairpin in his mouth. Brow furrowed in concentration.

“Daddy, don’t bother papa. Now is not the time.” Lily advises, hands clasped primly in front of her where she sits on the carpet in front of Draco.

Harry rolls his eyes bemusedly at that. _Now is not the time._ Lily sounded more like Draco each day. The other day she had told him she _did not care for_ his choice in veg for their dinner and that he _did suitably_ after finishing her bedtime story. He loved that Draco and Lily were so bonded, but he did wonder at some of the unexpected results.

He sits down on the couch next to them. Observing as Draco weaves the intricate looking braids. Fingers moving deftly. His boyfriend’s new ring glinting slightly from the ceiling light.

The boys trot into the room which gets his attention. Jamie holding his toy broom high above his head in what appears to be jubilation. It was the new one he and Draco got him. The last one had been burnt to ashes in an unfortunate outburst of accidental magic from Lily during a tantrum.

“Jamie, you know that stays outside.” Harry reprimands.

“C’mon, Dad.” Jamie complains, lower lip pouting. “I wanna show Uncle Ron when he gets here.”

“Outside.” He repeats, tone brooking no argument. “You can show him later.”

Al points at his brother, laughing as Jamie leaves the sitting room in defeat. They are having a playdate/dinner of sorts this afternoon. It was meant to be more of a Potter-Granger-Weasley thing but then the Goldsteins got invited too. That was all Draco’s idea. At least the weather was finally nice out so hopefully they can do most of it in the backyard.

“Stop frowning.” Draco chides lightly beside him as he finishes Lily’s plait.

“I’m not frowning.” He objects though he does adjust his expression. It was just that Pansy could be so irritating. She was better now – he supposed. The last few times he had been around her outside of school pickup had been . . . tolerable? It was difficult to say. Draco typically fielded the majority of the interactions which was fine by him.

“Rosie and Gabby are chummy and Al plays with them too at school. Besides, you like Tony.” Draco points out. “So be nice.”

“I'll be nice.” Harry asserts, trying not to sound exasperated. “I’m always nice.”

Draco hums noncommittedly.

It is actually quite nice. Harry can even admit that after the first thirty minutes of the adults getting past the initial awkward mingling. He is particularly proud of Hermione who is doing her best to engage Pansy politely. He suspects Olta serving alcoholic beverages before dinner helps smooth things along. 

Besides, Anthony gets along well with everyone and watching little Aaron toddle determinedly around the back patio until he hits the magical barrier his parents erected for him is amusing. Babies were usually perturbed by such restrictions and Aaron is no exception. Expression betrayed each time he falls to his rump and flaps his hand at the open seeming space that let everyone else out into the backyard. Causing the area to glow different colors forming the little baby-gate that it was. 

“Bah!” He voices once, looking pleadingly over to his parents clearly hoping they can resolve the issue.

“Sorry, we don’t really have any baby things.” Draco apologizes to Anthony who picks his son up and hangs him upside down causing the baby to laugh. 

“That’s okay.” Anthony says easily, going over to sit by his wife, and bounce the baby on his knee. “He’s a pretty easy-going little chap. We brought some toys in the nappy bag anyways. Pansy always has the bag packed for anything he needs.”

“How old is he?” Hermione asks, leaning forward to make a silly face at the baby.

“About fourteen months.” Pansy answers with a smile, looking over at her son who is flailing his arms. “It went very quickly.”

“He is absolutely adorable.” Hermione coos. “Sometimes I miss the baby days, but then I remember the nappies and the no sleeping. They are adorable though - and those cheeks.” She says, miming pinching Aaron’s chubby face. The baby smiles gummily up at her.

“And their wee little socks.” Ron adds, looking wistful. Harry chuckles at his friend. Ron loved babies and babies loved Ron. The man was his mother all over again.

There is a screech from the girls which causes the adults to look over as one. They seem to have caught the fizzing whizbee and are moving for their turn to throw. Lily is hopping up and down beside Rosie and Gabby. Who appear to be in strategic discussion, glancing surreptitiously over to the boys. Al is gesturing to his brother and cousin to huddle. Evidently each team was planning their next move. Their seriousness is amusing to him. He looks over to Ron who seems to be thinking along the same lines.

Hermione and Pansy discuss their concerns about Al, Rosie, and Gabby’s year. It never occurred to him to be concerned that Al was not getting a long enough free period. Of all his children, Al was the one who _liked_ school.

“Play is a critical part of social-emotional development.” Hermione expounds, eyes bright. “Really, muggle psychology is much more advanced than our own. They have done a lot more research on what helps children succeed. For example, I always struggled with the tradition of having wizarding children separated from their parents for so long once they reach their secondary education. That seems harmful to me. If I wasn’t so eager to learn and be immersed in magic, my homesickness at Hogwarts would have been much worse.”

“I totally agree.” Pansy concurs with a nod. “The very thought of being separated from my children for most of the year while they’re at Hogwarts is horrendous. I'm so glad to hear that McGonagall’s adapted Beaubaton’s more relaxed break schedule.”

“I like that change too.” Harry adds in. Wondering at the state of his life that he and Pansy are on the same page about school schedules. “My godson visits us a few weekends out of each semester. I still miss him of course, but it’s better than only three breaks a year. Hogwarts isn’t perfect, but at least the professors are doing more to address that now.”

“Like the abysmal lack of health education at Hogwarts.” Hermione remarks dryly as Ron rolls his eyes next to her. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Ronald.” His friend comments without even a glance at her husband. “You cannot convince me that not having sex education _at all_ is a good idea especially at a boarding school.”

“It’s not like we could get to the girls’ dorms.” Ron points out.

Harry chuckles at that flimsy excuse. Recalling all the times he snuck out with Ginny. He had no clue. Ginny was the only one of the two of them who had been taught about safe sex charms and birth control which came from older, wiser Gryffindor girls. He also knows Ron used to sneak out with Lavender Brown too, but that does not seem wise to mention in front of Hermione right now.

“Because the _dorms_ were the only place people were shagging. That’s a good one, Weasley.” Tony says guffawing. “I reckon Ravenclaws were a little more informed. Our prefects always had a discussion with us once we hit third year, but it’d have been nice if that information came from an informed adult instead. All of us were still fumbling around in the dark – so to speak.”

“Well, Slytherin was not the hub of sexual discovery that Gryffindor and Ravenclaw obviously were.” Pansy states with a smirk. “ _We_ were raised to wait for marriage or suffer social demise from our peerage.” 

“Lest the bloodlines fail.” Draco intones, donning a mock condescending tone that reminds Harry eerily of Lucius. Hell, it probably was something Lucius had told Draco.

Pansy giggles. “Young Mr. Malfoy, you must meet my daughter Felicitia. She is as pure as the driven snow,” She imitates in a high voice, drawing herself to her full height in her seat, and affecting a snobbish expression. “And she will make you some robust sons.”

Draco continues in his haughty tone as well, expression ornery and twirling his hand as if tipping an imaginary cap at his friend. “Miss. Parkinson, have you met my boy Wilhelm? He is six feet tall and will let you leave the house.”

They both dissolve into laughter at that. The rest of them just look aghast.

“Goodness.” Hermione exclaims, expression agog. “That sounds awful.”

“It could have been much worse.” Pansy replies with a neat little shrug. “We at least could date without chaperones. I know for a fact my mother was never alone in a room with a man she was not related to until her wedding night.” She says with a shudder.

Harry watches Draco’s expression close off slightly. He is aware there was a lot of pressure on Draco at one point to consent to an arranged marriage and have a child. Narcissa eluded to the issue once during her visit during the winter holiday. Although, she had also seemed pleased by Draco’s present circumstances with him. It was hard to tell where Narcissa stood on most subjects. As far as he could tell, Draco was the only one who knew how his mother truly felt apart from perhaps Lucius.

“Besides,” Pansy continues airily, “Draco was a good fake boyfriend. Every time his mother sent chocolates, he shared with me.”

 _That_ is news to Harry. “Fake boyfriend?” He repeats. He had been under the impression the two had seriously dated. Albeit with Draco closeted as he was. Then, of course, there was that rumor in sixth year that they had ended their relationship because Lucius thought Pansy wasn't good enough for his son.

Draco buries his face in his hands. “You would bring that up, you cow.”

Pansy titters. “That is no way to speak to your first and only girlfriend, sir.” She teases.

“It was a symbiotic relationship.” Draco explains to the group. “Pansy and I could be off the market. She could secretly meet up with whoever she was seeing at the time and I avoided any awkward questions.”

“About how gay you are.” Harry comments dryly making Ron guffaw beside him.

“Yes, Harry.” Draco answers with an exhausted air, giving him a sharp look. “That.”

“Another reason health education should exist at Hogwarts.” Hermione stresses. “So that children don’t have to feel ashamed to be who they are. That must have been horrible, Draco.”

“Like Pansy said, it could have been worse.” Draco responds with a shoulder twitch. Harry puts an arm around him, briefly squeezing the man’s bicep in silent support. Sometimes he was glad he did not realize he liked men until he was an adult. He cannot imagine getting used to that with the war going on and all the media attention on him as a kid.

“So, I’m confused then, dear.” Anthony begins, putting Aaron back down on the ground to play with a toy he retrieved from the bag. “Was Draco not your first kiss then?”

“No, he was.” Pansy answers her husband. “We were each other’s first kisses, but it was only for practice, and I have to admit that both of us were imagining Viktor Krum the whole time.”

“You are sharing a lot today.” Draco says tiredly, rubbing his fingers at his temple. 

“Does that really count?” Harry objects. Privately he suspects that he was Draco’s _first_ kiss that mattered. It was not like there was anyone else. “They were just practicing.”

“Excuse you, Potter, we got _very_ good at French kissing so you’re welcome.” Pansy defends, but then gives a swift look to her husband, frowning slightly. “Sorry, darling. I realize that was maybe a tad insensitive.”

“I appreciate that.” Anthony replies with a genial wave.

“Well then,” Ron starts, leaning in conspiratorially. “Who was the proper first kiss for you Slytherins then – to someone you were actually attracted to?”

“Not so fast, Weasley. I’ll tell you mine if everyone plays the game.” Pansy proposes with a smirk, wagging her finger at him.

Hermione raises a hand, signaling a time out. “I don’t know if –

“Lavender Brown.” Ron interrupts, finishing his drink in one large gulp, then slamming it down. “Boom. Someone else go.”

Harry sighs. “Cho Chang.” He shares in a defeated tone. Hermione and Ron already know anyways. Merlin, the memory of her tears haunts him still. What the hell was he thinking? Poor girl. He is glad she is doing well now.

“Penelope Clearwater.” Anthony supplies.

“Blaise Zabini.” Pansy names airily, then elbows Draco who appears reluctant. “Come on, Malfoy.” She cajoles.

“I suppose I’ll divulge.” Draco allows, twisting his fingers in his lap, obviously feeling awkward. “Alexander Geranos.”

“Wait.” Harry cuts in. Feeling surprised by his boyfriend’s answer. Draco never mentioned anyone specific before. “Who?”

“You did _not_.” Pansy rebukes, voice carrying over him. She narrows her eyes, scrutinizing Draco until she freezes. “You _did._ ” She proclaims, sounding equally scandalized and delighted.

Draco looks embarrassed. Ears growing pink. “He was always . . . polite.”

“That man is gorgeous.” Pansy tells the group, expression agog. “Does Astoria know? Weren’t they an _item_ for a few months?”

“Of course, Astoria knows.” Draco replies hastily. “Anyway, let’s hear who Hermione’s first kiss was. We all want to hear that, right?” He clumsily segues sounding strained.

Hermione huffs, crossing and uncrossing her arms. Obviously uncomfortable. “Well, my first kiss _was_ with Viktor Krum so . . . .”

“I am really not enjoying how much Viktor Krum played into a lot of our first kisses.” Harry remarks, scratching at the back of his neck. “He's a nice bloke and a talented quidditch player - don’t get me wrong - but really? Him?” 

He always liked Krum, but he will never think of him the same again. Instead he will always get flashes of Draco and Pansy at fourteen playing make believe. Wishing they were kissing someone else. It is an unpleasant image.

“Welcome to the club, mate.” Ron says in an affable manner.

-

The courtroom is full when he and Hermione arrive. People move out of the way as they make their way to the section of benches reserved for witnesses and ministry officials. They have attended most of the death eater trials. There were hundreds possibly even a thousand death eaters at the height of the second war. Most of whom operated within the UK. Not to mention the multitudes of people who were under some level of thrall or blackmail. The initial estimate of death eaters who escaped the war was around fifty or so. 

Harry has recently spent a lot of long nights in Robards’ office reviewing lists of names of probable and definitively identified death eaters. Now that he is an auror, all his workdays are dedicated to tracking death eater movement and hunting the remainder of them down. It is a natural transition for him.

Today is an important court date for him in a way. Lucius and Draco Malfoy are being tried for their crimes. The last time he saw the Malfoys they were huddled in the Great Hall obviously shocked to find themselves all alive. He hadn't seen them since that day months ago. Last he heard, they were both in Azkaban awaiting their final hearing as the remaining aurors and DMLE people processed all the evidence and statements.

Lucius was probably going to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban. The witness testimony alone was damning enough, but there was physical evidence of his crimes now too. That had not existed at the end of the previous war. Draco’s future was the one on the precipice. Admittedly Harry felt torn. He was one of the people who gave a statement on the Malfoys’ actions during the war. There were a few critical points where Draco quite possibly saved him – or at least gave him a chance. One memory Harry provided the council of Draco’s hand going lax as Harry grabbed the man’s wand seemed particularly crucial to him.

Most of the onlookers start loudly shouting and jeering, getting Harry’s attention. The men led in chains into the chamber are ghosts of their former selves. Draco looked bad the last few times Harry saw him, but now he seems decimated. Hair limp, skin pale, and body thin. A shadow. Lucius stands tall compared to his son, but he appears hollowed out. Grey eyes scanning the crowd, expression a mask as he faces the screaming crowd. Impassive.

It is not a shock to listen to Lucius spin a tale painting himself as a victim at worst and an unwitting accomplice at best, but it is a shock to hear Malfoy refuse to go along with his father’s version of events during the course of his statement. Instead, admitting his guilt. Eyes flitting up once or twice to glance at his judges before falling back to the floor. Voice halting and clearly unused to speaking anymore. Another stark difference from his father.

“ – my death was imminent at any rate. The horcrux was destroyed in the fire. Crabbe was dead. If I returned to the death eaters, I would have been killed for yet another of my failures. I did not wish to die as a death eater. I preferred what I assumed would be my inevitable capture as a traitor at the end of the battle then a prolonged torture and eventual death."

"It is true - as others have attested - that I fought for Hogwarts in the end. If that is my one good act in this life, then so be it. Let it stand on its own. I apologize for the rest. Every hateful, self-centered act that I am pleading guilty to today. The only thing I will beg this court for . . . is that my one moral act not be weighed against my many gross misdeeds. I am not fit for even a fraction of mercy. I engaged in every one of my crimes knowingly and with full intent to harm others to save myself. I am a coward and . . . I deserve whatever punishment this council deems fit.” He rasps out.

The silence that fills the chamber is eerie. Malfoy spoke for so long. The man’s voice creaking every few words. Horrible in all its truth. It is as if a large-scale spell has been cast upon them. No one speaks for a full two minutes. The energy in the room held together by a thread of tension. Harry watches Kingsley rest his chin on a closed fist, brow furrowing as he stares at Malfoy's bowed head.

“Is that all you have to say for yourself, Mr. Malfoy?” Kingsley asks in his deep voice, causing Malfoy to look up. Startled.

Draco nods, expression obviously miserable. “It is.”

The next several minutes feel like a fog to Harry. His entire body is cold. Hermione’s hand atop his own is the only warm thing anchoring him. The murmurs of the crowd are rising around them. Buzzing. 

This was the strangest of all the statements Harry has heard since the trials began. None of the other death eaters had claimed any responsibility for their role in the war. They had justified, denied, cried, and raged; but never owned their actions. How could Malfoy do it? Accept everything? Harry had hoped the fool would have leaned more heavily on his part on their side during the battle or even what happened at the manor. Try to save himself a little bit. Sure, Malfoy turned tail for their side only at the end, but he fought for Hogwarts – for Riddle’s defeat. Instead Draco Malfoy fell on his sword.

Bloody idiot.

Does he have no sense of self-preservation? He used to believe Malfoy was smarter than that, but now he isn't so sure. The war took its toll on all of them. The glimpses into Riddle’s mind showed him a young man who spent the last year in terror. But maybe Malfoy did not care what happened to himself anymore?

When the sentences are passed down, Harry does not quite know what to think. Or how to process it. He does genuinely feel happy that Malfoy will not spend the remainder of his days in Azkaban. That is true enough. The talk of probation is nearly drowned out by the uproar of the crowd. Spitting, angry and yelling about Malfoy’s light sentence. The aurors not guarding the prisoners, march down the aisles of the chamber, ordering people to their feet. Shepherding them to the exit. Many of them protesting in loud voices.

The last he sees of Malfoy is the man getting his manacles uncuffed, chains spooling away from him at the direction of the auror beside him. Harry is on his feet getting in the queue to leave. Looking as best he can over the heads of the people in the crowd. Malfoy is off to the side of his parents as they say their goodbyes. Seeming lost as one hand rubs absently at his now freed wrist. Shoulders hunched and expression shocked.

Harry shuffles along, following behind Hermione as they are prompted ahead by an auror. The sight of Draco Malfoy being freed and looking adrift in the world stays with him for some time afterward. A grey ghost of a young man at the periphery of his mind. No longer the arrogant boy Harry met years ago. 

Now something entirely new and uncertain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thanks for reading. I've been working non-stop lately so these have been slower coming out. I'm hopeful to post another before the end of the month. As always, I own nothing but plots.


	19. Prologue

The cold permeates everything those first few days in Azkaban. The frost encroaching into his wool blanket and grey uniform. Reaching his hair and hands until it feels as though it has roots down to the marrow of his bones. It is a lead weight that anchors him down when for so long he had existed on the razor’s edge of survival. Unsure of where he would fall. It is a shock to his system until he acclimates. Then it is akin to walking around in a numbing mist with occasional jolts of painful sensation. This well-deserved purgatory. There is certainly nothing pleasant about the place. Draco did not expect there to be. Dementors drift in and out. Never with any clear aim. There is no space that is off limits to them. The frayed black tendrils of their auras trailing behind. Catching their victims in full body tremors.

He watches them floating around the perimeter outside of the fortress’ towers when he is out for daily exercise in the courtyard. Hands clasping the iron bars that form the wall around them. It is one of his hobbies. Observing everyone’s movements. There is not much else to do and other inmates rarely approach him. It is better that way. When they do approach it is almost always a fight.

The guards on the morning shift take turns in pairs marching around the courtyard cage. Draco is familiar with some of the general population guards now. There is Pointy who loves to prod unsuspecting prisoners with his wand giving them a good shock. Scary who really seems quite sweet but appears frighteningly a lot like a troll – rather reminding him of Goyle. All six feet nine inches of him. Then there is Spitty, Hostile, Bored, and Feeder. He has not named them all, but it is a start. He is certain they will become well acquainted in good time.

It is a sad state of affairs that he is accustomed to the screaming and wretched rambling growing louder when the overhead lights go out. Sleep remains challenging. He aims for rest instead. Propped against the roughhewn wall, reclining on his cot in his narrow cell. The cells are little more than carved in caves slotted along the walls, scarcely big enough for a cot and toilet. Creaking lamps floating along the aisle walkways cast weak light. 

“Malfoy.” His neighbor grunts out. “Are you there?”

Draco ignores him. It is their lovely little nightly routine. Everyone hollering at each other until someone cracks and starts howling in hysterics. Apparently, it is the height of entertainment.

“I hear daddy’s up in one of the big cages.”

Draco grimaces, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Focusing on the feeling of his fingers digging into his legs and his chin into his kneecap. He has not broken down yet. In fairness, there is not much left of him to crumble away.

“Has he forgotten about you? All alone down here? I thought all your relatives went to the Spires. Auntie haunted that place for _years._ ”

He closes his eyes. Breathing deeply through his nose and out of his mouth like mother taught him when he was a boy. Ignoring his dislike of the stale smell of his cell. It was good to smell bad here he reminds himself. He had been avoiding the showers.

_“I saw them cut her. Push her down. Hurt her.”_

They did not matter.

_“They’re supposed to be the heroes. But they hurt poor mummy, didn’t they?”_

It is all white noise.

“Malfoy. Malfoy!”

_“Made you watch. All helpless.”_

“This is just like old times, isn’t it, Draco?” Whispers the voice he loathes most this time of night.

Draco shudders. It is Rosier. One of the young death eaters Bellatrix trained along with him during the last year. Teaching them how to be _useful_. Rosier was ruthless – more so than the rest of them. A year older than him, Ethan Rosier was a graduate of Durmstrang and his aunt’s star pupil.

“Bellatrix would have _loved_ it.” Rosier hisses. “But you _don’t._ Do you, Draco?”

Rosier is right of course, but there is no chance Draco will engage him. That would just make it all worse. There was a time Rosier lived to torture him. Anything to make the dark lord and his lieutenants notice him. Garner their full attention.

“Why did you survive? When so many of our brethren were slaughtered? Why you? You were the weakest of us – not even fit to clean your aunt’s boots. _Disgusting disappointment._ ”

It goes on like that until he mercifully zones out. Their voices buzzing around him like pixies feasting on a field of withered daffodils. Lulling him into the closest state he gets to sleep.

-

“Do you ever want more?” Astoria queries.

“Of what?” He voices, confused, tilting his head toward her where they sit on the stone bench tucked into the corner of the Greengrass’ sprawling garden. A perfect miniature of what used to be on the Malfoy estate.

Astoria looks sadly up at him. Eyes shining. Draco likes her. Not the way he should. The way his parents would prefer, but he does care about her. It is a start at the least. She is very slight, pale with thin brown hair framing her delicate face. He has the distinct sense a strong gust of wind would knock her over. Her health had always been poorly. A family curse or some such. Astoria was a compromise for his parents. There were few pureblood parents who wanted to arrange marriages between their daughters and him. The war permanently stained his family’s reputation. He was either a social pariah or a useless weakling depending on the pureblood circle his name was circulated in.

“Life.” Astoria replies. Holding his gaze. “Is this all there is?” She waves a hand around them. They are supposed to be courting, but all they have done is talk. Draco had so missed having a proper friend. Pansy and Goyle had been barred from seeing him. Pansy by her parents and Goyle by his probationary officer. Everyone else had fled the country or was dead.

“I'm not sure.” He states honestly.

Astoria takes her hand in his. The warmth of it briefly shocking him. People rarely touched him anymore. “Draco, don’t take this badly, but are you even attracted to women?”

No one had ever asked him that directly. He had worked diligently to bury that part of himself once he realized. Hoping to keep _that_ particular characteristic at arm’s length. People had realized before. Blaise. His aunt. One supportive the other . . . not as much.

“I care about you.” He assures quietly, chest suddenly aching. Astoria squeezes his hand. “But no, I don’t – I wish I could . . .” He is so tired. He cannot seem to feel better even without the looming threat of violence and death.

“I care about you too.” Astoria returns, biting her lower lip and gaze shifting to the ground. Posture upright and expression troubled.

Draco does not dislike the silence, but it is somber. He feels like he has disappointed her. His friend. “What,” He eventually ventures, swallowing once dryly. Hesitant. “What could we have instead?”

“ _Anything_.” Astoria answers immediately, sounding desperate. “We could leave here. Live overseas like the others. Date who we want. Work where we want. _Be who we want._ I always wanted to work some place flashy – where everyone wants to be. I want to have fun.”

He really does not know how to respond to her pronouncement. Fun? He was alive despite everything. Despite all his sins. Does he get to have fun?

“Did you ever have a dream of what you might do once you became an adult?” Astoria asks, turning Draco’s head again at the idea.

Marry a pureblood witch. Have pureblood children. Live at the manor. Repeat the cycle. That was what he was _supposed_ to do. That was what he was _supposed_ to want. Not work or _date_. Any leisure would have happened within the strict social events society put on. Merlin, that made him sound like Mother. However –

There was one dream he had hoped to be allowed.

“I – I thought once, I might get my potions mastery.” He admits in a whisper. Unnerved that the world did not fall apart for voicing his wish. “That it would be allowed.” He adds.

“You could do that.” Astoria encourages, leaning into his space. “We do _not_ have to get married. Neither of us obviously wants that. . .” She trails off, sitting back before giving him a stern look, still holding on to his hand. “Your probation is almost over, right?”

“Two months.” Draco replies. He had been counting down the days. Waiting for the other shoe to drop and for them to drag him back to Azkaban. Mother and Mrs. Greengrass were planning the wedding for right after. He did not entirely dread the wedding, but Astoria was correct, he did not want to be married to her. It would not be a true marriage.

“I like you a lot, Draco.” She tells him, interrupting his thoughts. “You’re clever and funny and overall much more tolerable now. We could leave Britain together – not as husband and wife – but as friends. We can use my dowry money and have a fresh start.” She suggests earnestly.

“What about our families?” He questions. It has been a rare occurrence that he has not done exactly what his parents wanted.

“What about them?” Astoria challenges, giving him a droll expression. “I promise you they have their own lives to focus on.”

“That’s true.” Draco allows. He had lately been hoping Mother would find something more to do with herself than write letters to Father and pour endlessly over wedding preparations. It seemed sad to him. A waste. “Okay.” He agrees with a nod. Not entirely certain of what he is doing, but it feels good to say aloud. It feels right.

His friend raises a questioning eyebrow at him. “Okay?” She repeats.

“I will leave with you.” Draco clarifies. The sound of the water fountain and the birds in the nearby elm tree entering into his consciousness, and for the first time in a long time, he senses the spark of an idea in the back of his head. It is a lot like hope. “I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

Astoria throws her arms around him in a hug that is much stronger than he anticipated she could give. She pulls back looking him full in the face. Beaming. “Promise?”

“For whatever my promises are worth - I do.”

-

They do not like him. That is made abundantly clear. There are scarcely any British students here, but his reputation and family name proceed him. Rumors spread. He even overhears some of them. No one directly addresses him about his past – or speaks to him past the necessities. He is outright excluded by about a quarter of the students he meets. For all the higher purposes that academia serves, the hierarchy has placed him directly at the bottom.

The Académie des Praticiens has a long history of accepting _everyone_ who applies to their mastery programs. Then promptly tearing those students apart with the most grueling coursework and research standards. Maybe ten student apprentices graduated each mastery course from that great institution in a year. Each with the certain knowledge that they had a world-class education and would most likely join the upper echelons of celebrated magical practitioners and academics. The most hopeful – the most prodigious talents applied their efforts there. Arriving in Paris from all over the world. The Académie depended upon its onerous reputation to initially weed out would-be applicants.

It was the last place Draco wanted to enroll at to earn his mastery. There were other options. He only seriously considered it because Severus was an alumnus. Almost no one succeeded there. Unfortunately, in the end, it was the _only_ place that would accept him.

He has never gone to school with creatures as fellow students before. The courses he is pursuing do not necessarily _require_ wizarding magics. Father would be horrified. The majority of students are still wizards and witches. However, there are one or two goblins, vampires, elves, and half-breeds with various ancestry. He does not exactly socialize with anyone. Really, Astoria is the only person he talks to on any given day – and sometimes Simone who works at the club where they work. He is mostly okay with that. He keeps his head down that first year. It is wonderful. Everything he does is wholly his choice. Every goal achieved his own.

The first ones to voluntarily socialize with him are creatures – creature folk he learns to call them. He puts his foot in his mouth more times than he can count. It was never a strength of his to make friends, but he is learning. Or perhaps trying is the more apt word for it.

“Who taught you potions?” The tall, half-harpy questions sharply as they work in the lab during the early dawn hours. It was valuable time. Draco had a hard-enough time getting his reserved hours. The students in charge of laboratory time this semester somehow always managed to lose his requests. “Your cuts are sloppy.”

Draco raises an eyebrow at that, internally cautioning himself to mind his tongue. This was one of the few assignments they had to complete with a peer, and no one wanted either of them to be their partner. They were stuck with each other. Besides, his cuts were _not_ sloppy. He was mincing the amaranth on purpose. Perhaps it seemed sloppy to someone with razor sharp talons that cut to the precise degree that his lab partner did. “Professor Severus Snape did. He was a graduate of _this_ program.” He answers as neutrally as possible.

“Hardly a ringing endorsement of his teaching ability.” His lab partner comments disparagingly. Draco elects to ignore that. It was hardly the first critical comment that came his way and far from the cruelest.

He had seen the half-harpy in the lecture hall before but never this close. Taking up nearly three seats as his wingspan demanded, even when neatly folded behind him. He estimates they are of a similar age, but creature biology could surprise. The man had deep red outlines around his eyes which were golden and completely birdlike in their intensity. Except for the talons where a human’s fingernails might have been and the wings jutting out his upper back, he appeared humanoid. Albeit, sharper featured than even Draco was.

“Are you going to continue to stare or are you going to finish dicing?”

“My apologies.” Draco replies hastily. He _had_ been gawking at the man’s appearance and the ingredients he was preparing. “I noticed you are using thistlewick as your binding agent. An interesting choice.”

His lab partner hums in acknowledgement but does not respond. Draco lets it go.

An hour later their potion sample is bottled and set aside to be judged by their professor. Draco fills a second draft as back up. It never hurt to be too careful. His submissions had been tossed or accidentally spilled before. He observes his lab partner do the same. Obviously, he was not the only one here who planned ahead.

“Could you remind me of your name?” Draco drawls as they prepare to leave. Each donning their respective cloaks. “I must have heard it during roster when this semester began weeks ago, but if I knew it, I’ve quite forgotten.”

The half-harpy gives him a discerning look. “Excuse me?”

Draco take a breath, perhaps this was another pointless attempt. “Your name? Mine is Draco Malfoy.” He shares, extending a hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” The gesture is not returned, and Draco allows his arm to fall back.

“It is never a pleasure for me to meet someone _like you_.” His partner responds, drawing himself to his full height as he looks down at Draco. Wings briefly expanding and folding back as they settle through his cloak.

“Like me?” Draco echoes with a sinking feeling.

“A death eater, yes? That is what I heard the others call you.” The half-harpy states with a discerningly, predatory tilt of his head. Putting Draco on edge. “Of course, there are other names for the type of wizard you are.”

“I am _not_ a death eater any longer.” Draco states with all the gravity he can manage. Forcing himself to gaze evenly at his companion. “Forgive me. I was attempting to be polite by introducing myself. I won’t trouble you further.” He makes for the exit, taking several strides until he is at the cavernous doorway that leads out to the quad.

“What am I to you that you would care to know my name? Or introduce yourself?” The man calls out, tone curious. Causing Draco to pause mid-step and turn back to see the avian man considering him. Draco frowns. No one has been so direct with him at the Académie since his arrival in Paris. 

“My lab partner?”

“Funny.” The man responds dryly. “You almost sound sincere.”

Is this how it will always be? Clawing out his own place? He deserves this treatment. He knows that. His past does not exist in a vacuum. Still, it bothered him. People were more tolerant of him here, but hardly welcoming. “I did not intend to offend you with my presence. It is a talent of mine.” He snarks thoughtlessly.

“You must recognize the irony in telling _me_ that.” The half-harpy man responds, expression incredulous. “I am as capable as you, yet me and my fellow creature folk are spurned by much of wizarding society simply because of our parentage. Our magical abilities considered lesser. I do not apologize for my presence - for my mother being a valkyrie. Not to _anyone._ The least _you_ could do, former death eater, is the same. You are here for the same purpose I am. Do not apologize for it. Prove your worth.”

There is a silence. Draco is brutally aware of each second that drags on as the man in front of him stares down at him. Assessing him. He returns the look. Certain that should he break it he will fail some character test. They were similar in their positions here. Draco’s past choices resulted in wizarding society shunning him, but this man’s very being was not a choice and he was not the lesser for it.

“I thought you were half harpy.” Draco comments at a loss for what to say. His ears immediately burning at the clumsy non-sequitur. Merlin, he is an idiot. Mordred and Morgana. Could he be any more tactless?

“A common mistake.”

Draco is surprised at that reaction. He expected a biting retort. “The thistlewick was ingenious.” He praises. It may be a worthless compliment coming from him, but he feels compelled to offer it. “Combined with my mincing of the amaranth, we will earn the top spot.”

He turns and the heavy door opens obligingly as he exits and walks down the steps into the crisp, early morning. He actually liked this time of day. Hardly anyone was around on campus. It was conducive for him to study at the library before class. Afterward, he could hopefully nab a couple hours sleep before his shift later this evening.

“Hyperion.” His lab partner proclaims a few yards behind Draco. Prompting him to pivot to face his peer once again.

“What?” Draco questions, confused.

“My name is Hyperion.” The half-valkyrie man answers him coolly, expression guarded. Golden eyes sharp on him. “Remember it.”

-

_POTTER DIVORCE_

_As anyone not living under a rock knows, Auror Harry Potter and now separated wife Mrs. Ginevra Potter filed jointly for divorce last month. One thing is certain, our readers have been despondent at this turn of events. Rumors abound about what led to the split. Did their ambitious careers send them careening away from each other? Did Auror Potter’s injury in the line of duty impact this decision? Was there infidelity? Irreconcilable differences?_

_Sources close to the family indicate they have not lived together for months now. The Potter children: James [age 5], Albus [age 3], and Lily [age 10 months] are reportedly residing with Mrs. Potter’s parents. There has been no statement or indication where either parent is living at present. It is assumed Auror Potter is staying with the children given Mrs. Potter’s current involvement in the European cup as newly minted coach of the Harpies. The couple have shared in past interviews –_

“Don’t read that muck, Draco.” Greg prods him as he sits the tea set down on the kitchen table before him. “It’s all gossip anyhow.”

“I know it, but it’s been ages since I’ve read the Prophet. To be honest, I am surprised you have a subscription.” Draco responds conversationally, folding the paper and setting it down. “What does your wife think of our owl delivery system?”

The current Goyle household was a far stretch from the rocky estate Greg had been raised on. This abode was a simple, warm-colored flat situated above the delightful bakery that Greg’s muggle wife, Khady, and his sister-in-law owned. Draco had rarely visited Britain in the years after his probation. This trip was in large part brought on by his old childhood friend. Greg had recently married and invited Draco to visit the next time he was in the country. Draco had been surprised but pleased by the invitation. His old friend had not invited him to visit before, and while Draco never pushed, he had missed him. Now, he could offer congratulations for the marriage in person.

Greg chuckles. “She thinks it’s funny if a bit messy." He answers. "Doesn’t really appreciate it when feathers and waste are left behind.”

“I imagine.” Draco drawls, reaching for his teacup. 

He watches as the milk and sugar waddle over offering themselves up to his service. It is the first magic he has seen since arriving. Greg was living mostly muggle these days. His letters over the years painted a picture of a man who was grateful to find acceptance somewhere. Most of Greg’s relations were dead now and the reparations had nearly bankrupted the Goyle family. An older brother had control of the family estate, but Greg had not returned to the fold. Instead finding his place kneading bread of all things.

“You think I’ve gone mad. Living like this.” Greg blunts suddenly, looking balefully at Draco. Brow furrowed. “I can see it on your face.”

“I think nothing of the sort.” Draco disagrees, raising an eyebrow. He did not mean to appear judgmental. His face just did that sometimes. “It seems to me you are quite happy here. I am very glad for you.”

Greg fidgets in his seat. Expression suddenly sheepish. “Khady is the most wonderful woman in the world. She’s pretty, smart, and an amazing baker to boot. She came to this country with nothing but her little sister and built so much for them. I could never do that. I’m a lucky man that she even tolerates me - let alone married me.”

“You have a lot to offer.” Draco protests.

His friend gives him a wane smile but shakes his head. “I’m a hard worker, and I'll always be loyal to her – that’s true enough – but I’m afraid of what our world might do to her.” The man shares, expression worried.

“Has your brother –

“No.” Greg dissuades with a heavy wave of his hand. “I doubt he even knows where I am. Probably figures I’m dead. He never cared much for me. It’s just that Khady . . . she wants to have children.”

“Greg,” Draco states slowly, unsure. “If you don’t want children you need to tell her.”

“That’s the thing – I _do_ want kids – but I don’t want them to be wizarding children.”

“Oh.” Draco voices. “I see.”

The sad bit is he can understand. The wizarding world had only ever been indifferent or at worst cruel to Greg. The youngest of his brothers and rather ignored by his parents. Never particularly interested or talented in any magical craft. Then the war came, and Greg had been bullied and blackmailed by his death eater relatives into doing their biding. Greg, at least, had not wanted to join the death eaters and likely would have been killed along with Draco at the end of the battle if the dark lord had won. Having fought on the opposite side.

“I wanted to ask you . . .” Greg starts, hesitant. “You’re smarter than me. Always have been. You know all about potions and things. Is there a way to make _certain_ we won’t have magical children?”

Admittedly, he has some knowledge on how to promote fertility and of arcane magics to _increase_ the probability of producing magical children, but he has not one hint of a guess how to prevent a child from being inherently magical.

“I’m sorry, Greg.” He responds, concerned . “There is nothing I can think of and I would caution you against trying anything experimental – particularly for your wife’s safety.”

The man hangs his head.

“I have heard of muggles adopting or –

“She’s pregnant.”

Draco closes his eyes. Allowing that to sink in, collecting his thoughts. He tries to think of a way to comfort his friend. “It will be different for this child.” He finally says in a serious tone, catching Greg’s attention. “Even if they are magical, they are not _us._ They will not be held captive by the same deranged notions of superiority that our parents had. They will have you two as parents." 

"Maybe." Greg allows, mouth twisting.

Draco sighs. He could never definitively say that everything will be all right, but sitting here with Greg in the trappings of his happy life made him hopeful. How could anything but good come from this home? "Can’t you see a little one with your wife’s smile and spirit shaking up the wizarding world? The future is bright.”

His friend appears to consider this, looking down at his cup of tea. Tapping his fingers on the table in a staccato rhythm. “I want to be a good father.” Greg admits after a while. Glancing up at Draco with watery eyes.

“How could you not be?” Draco assuages. “And, well, if you aren’t, you will be better than your own father. Isn’t that the goal?”

“Low bar.” His friend comments after a moment with a weak chuckle, wiping at the corner of his eye.

“Very.” Draco concurs, taking a sip of his tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love a flashback episode. My last two planned OCs are introduced with a dash of world building. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story this far. You motivate me. As always, I own nothing - just plots.


	20. The Argument

The monthly inter-departmental security meeting almost always takes place in the Minister of Magic’s office. When he was starting out as an auror he was frequently invited to give reports, but now he was one of the members of the round table. One voice among the top ministers and chief members of the Wizengamot. Over the years, the meetings have been everything from quick briefings to all-out war room strategy. Today was somewhere in between with Kingsley asking him, Robards, and Hermione to stay afterward – for a private word.

This, in itself, was not unusual. Although more often than one of his fellow deputy heads was also in attendance along with one or two members of the Wizengamot. Instead, it is the four of them. Kingsley Shacklebolt sat behind his immaculate walnut desk and the remainder of them in his orbit. Hermione takes a seat, her briefcase neatly placed on her lap with the quill sticking out of it.

“We cannot afford to lose our focus.” Kingsley states in his deep voice, expression somber as he leans forward in his chair. “The escalation in muggle attacks - while deeply troubling - has obviously become a smokescreen tactic to put us off the scent of our ultimate perpetrator. This is eerily what it was like before the second war.”

“Almost as if someone wants us to make that connection.” Robards comments. “Mock us for being too late once again.” A theory that Harry too had been puzzling over more than once in recent weeks as their investigation into the smuggling network continued. Hitting strange ends in leads and uncovering more disturbing crimes against creature folk and muggles. They were staged seeming at times. Indicating someone took the time to insult the aurors’ efforts. He knew his own squad and others in their department were becoming increasingly frustrated by it.

The minister nods gravely. “Perhaps.” He responds, stroking his chin. “Of course, the majority of death eaters responsible for sowing doubt and chaos in those initial days of each war are dead now or incarcerated. It _is_ equally possible this originated outside of them. Any dark wizard or witch who is a student of history might make similar moves. Riddle certainly learned from Grindelwald.”

“True,” Hermione agrees, lips pursing. “However – and correct me if I’m wrong, minister – you don’t seem to believe recent events are the result of someone unconnected to death eaters.”

Kingsley sighs. A rare expression of frustration. “Gawain and Harry can understand my thinking, I believe. I was an auror for years. You come to rely on your instincts and mine are telling me we are playing into whatever game this perpetrator is playing. There have been some successes, certainly, but we need to formulate a novel approach. Something whoever this is, isn’t expecting.”

“They’re familiar with how the ministry operates.” Harry ponders aloud. “How the DMLE and aurors operate. That is how they’ve remained ahead of us. A ministry insider maybe? Or more likely a former employee? They don’t seem up-to-date on all our procedures, but they’re certainly arrogant enough to continue anyways.”

“There is another possibility we haven’t considered.” Robards says suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention. “There are people who fit both categories: connected to death eaters and students of dark wizards. The children of the death eaters who led those initial campaigns infiltrating the country and ministry are all grown now. Some of them were familiar with their parents’ practices – their networks.”

“You’re referring to Junge?” Hermione inquires, peering at Robards over her reading glasses. “Karkaroff’s son? The Norwegian insurgent?”

“Not just him.” Robards responds, shifting his gaze significantly to Harry. 

“You mean Draco.” Harry surmises, frowning. Noting in his periphery how Hermione and Kingsley shift slightly in their seats. Robards remains firm though. Gaze shrewd. His boss hadn’t denounced his choice in partner, but a cool distance had grown between them since that fateful oversight hearing months ago. A fact that Harry knew Hermione was aware of as well.

“My understanding is that Draco Malfoy wasn’t connected to the death eater’s shadow network.” Kingsley remarks, considering Robards with a careful look. “None of his statements indicated taking any part in that system.” 

“Malfoy still might have some insight.” Robards contends, tone resolute. “He had close connections to most of Riddle’s lieutenants. He learned from them. Merlin’s sake, his father was the one who operated the underground network during each war.”

“Until Lucius fell out of favor.” Hermione points out.

“He still built the system,” The head auror counters. “It may be of benefit to bring Draco Malfoy in to review his . . . experiences.”

“To question him?” Harry asks directly, beginning to feel cross. He does not lose his temper, but he can feel the tension in his body begin to bleed through his posture. He and Robards stare at each other. It isn’t animosity exactly – more a stalemate. 

“No.” Robards replies tersely, breaking the stare. Looking deliberately around the room, expression tight. “Isn’t it possible, that there are people Malfoy never talked about from his time as a death eater? People he didn’t view as dangerous then. Someone his age or younger like Junge who continued to believe in Riddle’s cause? Or not be entirely opposed to dark magics?”

“I suppose . . . that _is_ a possibility.” Hermione hedges beside them, brow furrowing. “But that also sounds like a lot of guesswork. There is no real indication Draco has that information or that speaking with him will be helpful to this investigation. I know we’re frustrated, but are we pulling at loose straws?”

“What can it hurt? Malfoy’s been deemed _safe_ since that oversight hearing.” Robards reasons, cutting a glance back to Harry. “I say we bring him in. See what he has to say.”

“In an official capacity?” Harry questions, feeling his stomach sink. The ministry made Draco uncomfortable. More than that, really. If he was summoned again Harry was afraid of the outcome. The oversight hearing had already done a number on his boyfriend.

“Not yet.” Kingsley declares to Harry’s relief. “Let’s gather more information first. We have a couple more leads to pursue. That being said, Harry,” The minister says, speaking directly to him. “I give you my permission to bring up this potential . . . consultation with Malfoy.”

-

The security meeting leaves him discomfited. He might’ve been able to let it go for now if it had been the usual end of day routine: returning to Grimmauld. Instead, he arrives late that evening by floo to the manor’s main hall. They have been at the manor the last week as it got closer and closer to the opening weekend. There had been a few on-site meetings with the Magical Britain’s Historical Society, but next weekend was set to be the first public tour and then a private dinner the following day for their friends. Celebrating the opening in a way. Marking it’s importance.

His boyfriend had been beside himself getting everything ready. Dort, the house elf in charge of the manor, was often found overseeing the final touches to their plans. The elf was incredibly helpful. Always certain in how they should proceed. Harry vastly preferred the elf and his good-natured advice over Narcissa’s. Who, as far as he could tell, was bewildered at Draco’s plan to open the manor to outsiders at all and stiffly acceding to the major alterations her son had implemented to their family’s home.

The manor had certainly been transformed in the year since Draco stepped foot back onto the estate. Far more than Harry could have dreamed.

He passes portrait after portrait of long-dead Malfoys as he walks through the manor to the east wing where his family’s bedrooms are. Candle sconces lighting the way. The paintings’ occupants turn their noses up at him or outright walking out of their frames to parts unknown as he goes by. They hated him, but they knew better now than to shout out their criticisms. None of them wanted to be confined to the dungeons.

Again.

Draco is almost comically wide-eyed by the time Harry enters their suite. His boyfriend is half-dressed in his pajamas, haphazardly attempting to put his arm through the sleeve of his shirt as he reads from a sheaf of paper in his hand. Normally neat hair disheveled like he’s been running his hands through it. The whole scene makes Harry grin. He loved messy Draco.

“You’re here.” The blonde man announces with a tired smile, looking over at the sound of Harry’s entrance.

“I am.” Harry amusedly returns. Striding forward to assist Draco getting his shirtsleeve on. Rubbing the man’s shoulder in greeting as he helps Draco get sorted.

“Thanks.” His boyfriend says as they lean in automatically to kiss hello.

It is too quick. They’ve been apart more often than not in the last several days. When they are together work on the manor, their jobs, or his children have kept them occupied. Always something. It was starting to wear on him.

Harry shrugs out of his work clothes and exchanges them for a tee and joggers. Suddenly feeling how tired he is. Sometimes it seemed like the second he took off the uniform, his body reminded him that he was sore. It’s late. Almost midnight when he settles into their bed. Scrolling through the news feed app on his phone, observing Draco finally turn in as well. His boyfriend grabbing the book he’s been reading lately from the bedside table and opening it to the marked page. Barely muffling a yawn as he goes.

“Draco.” He begins slowly, considering how he wants to ask this. He was still uncertain what he thought about the whole thing. Torn.

“Hmmm?”

“What was it like for you here, you know . . . then,” Harry broaches. “During the last year of the war?”

Draco gives him an incredulous look. Clearly surprised.

“I’m serious.” He responds, sitting up straighter in bed, and turning toward his boyfriend. Reaching out to rest his hand on Draco’s forearm. “I’d like to know.”

“We never talk about the war.” Draco states shortly, blinking once. “Not in depth anyway. We’ve done very well avoiding that particular topic.”

“Maybe we should.” Harry presses. “Talk about it more I mean.”

His boyfriend frowns, but he does not seem put off to Harry’s relief. “You know some of it.” Draco says slowly, gesturing to his head with his pointer finger. “You saw bits through the dark lo – Riddle’s perspective.”

“I did.” He concurs. Recalling the flashes of terrified faces. Draco’s was one of the few he consistently recognized. It was how he knew the other man was alive during the war. “It looked terrible.”

Draco’s expression does something complicated. “It was terrible.” The man finally answers, sounding sad. “But you knew that. What’s brought this on – the manor opening?”

“In a way, yeah, the tours are part of why I’m curious.” He allows, thankful for the segue. “But we were talking today at a meeting about how the death eaters began to operate at the beginning of both wars. How they initially got their start. What we – the ministry – learned about how they organized themselves and any other people who may have learned from them too. The connections that knowledge has to current dark magic users.”

“I see.” Draco replies with a nod. “A very heavy topic of conversation indeed.”

“It . . . your name came up.”

The stillness in Draco is not a great sign. It usually wasn’t. His boyfriend’s lips then and his fingers begin to fidget with the hardcover edge of his book. “My name?” The man echoes.

“Yeah.” Harry confirms softly into the space between them. “Things you might know . . . about the other death eaters and what they did.”

“I provided dozens of statements regarding death eater operations and the crimes I witnessed and took part in. Memories too. So far as I am aware, the ministry still retains all those.” Draco states frowning.

“I know. I’ve been through them.” He admits, suddenly feeling abashed. Although, in fairness, he’d gone through that stuff years ago. Long before his romantic relationship with Draco. “But they don’t show anything about what your daily life was like or your own personal relationships with other death eaters or their families.”

There is a pause as Draco’s brow furrows further. Frown deepening in the manner he did sometimes when considering something seriously. “Are you inquiring about this as my boyfriend or as an auror?” His boyfriend questions in a neutral tone of voice, setting Harry’s teeth on edge.

“Can’t it be both?” He submits.

“An auror then.” Draco responds decisively as his expression hardens, closing his book, and climbing out of bed.

Harry sighs, aware he’s kicked up a pixie nest. “Don’t be like that, Draco.” He complains tiredly.

“Like what?” His boyfriend snaps, turning to face him. Posture tense and arms crossed.

“Upset.” Harry states, gesturing at the man’s stance for emphasis.

Draco scowls and walks quickly away from the bed to pace in front of their bureau. “You asked me what it was like for me here during the war, Harry. The worst, most shameful period of my life – not as my boyfriend who loves me – but as an auror who wants more information for who knows what.”

“I can’t always separate the two.” He protests, irritation rising. “I’ve been an auror for almost fifteen years.”

“You can when it suits you.” Draco throws out with a dirty look.

“You’re the one who wants transparency here, Draco.” Harry retorts, off track from his original purpose and unable to restrain the frustration in his voice. “That’s what this whole historical tour thing is for, right? I know you’re not running them – I get that – but you’re already volunteering a lot of information. So why can’t I ask you more about this?”

“Because _no one_ wants to hear it.”

“I very obviously do.” He disagrees.

Draco glares, stopping in his tracks at the foot of the bed to face him. “No one wants to hear the sad little story of an idiotic death eater. Not when there were countless victims of the dark lord’s crimes _._ Good people. People like your parents. Those are the people whose stories deserve to be told. _They_ are the reason blood bigotry needs to be stopped. That’s why I want transparency here where it used to thrive.” He explains, voice increasingly impassioned.

“So your story doesn’t count?” He challenges, crossing his arms. They have never addressed it directly like this but he finds himself unable to stop himself. “You weren’t a victim too? You were barely sixteen when they inducted you. All other known death eaters were at least of age. I know the pressure your father put on you in those days. How much of a choice did you really have?”

“Don’t you EVER minimize what _I_ chose!” His boyfriend yells, hand suddenly fisting his own hair as if to contain himself. Knuckles white as his entire body twists forward as if trying to suppress a great weight that’s fallen. Face aggrieved and pale. “Not you!” He cries.

A painfully tense silence envelopes the room at Draco’s outburst. It is the first time Draco’s ever raised his voice during an argument Harry realizes dully. Every disagreement or debate they’ve had before vacillated between irritation and bantering. The ebb and flow of a couple trying to work together. Finding their rhythm. This was different.

“Draco.” He calls out, trying for conciliatory. Equal feelings of guilt, frustration, bone-deep weariness roiling through him.

The man before him sags. Eyes searching out the other’s in the dim light of their room. He watches Draco take a shaky breath, releasing the hand in his hair to grasp the top of the bureau for support.

“You want to know what my daily life was like here, Harry?” Draco starts in a strained tone, expression haunted. “I’ll tell you. I scarcely ate. I rarely slept and when I did it was on my mother’s bedroom floor for whatever veneer of safety that afforded us both. My father was out of favor. I rarely saw him and when I did it was unpleasant to say the least. There were . . . trainings. Bellatrix and her cronies were in charge of those. _Educating the next generation,_ she loved to say. I was taught how to duel and torture, but I was notably poor in those areas. Weak. A disappointment to my lineage – to my father.” He cuts off, shoulders tensing. Harry is left with the impression Draco was about to cry.

His boyfriend takes another ragged breath. “My skillset had always been more academic, so Severus encouraged the dark lord to make me one of his pet potioneers. I was required to produce all sorts of nasty things for horrific purposes, and if one of my potions should fail or if I made some imaginary infraction, I was tortured. Or worse I would be tasked with interrogations – which were also tests of my loyalty.”

“Tests?” Harry repeats, dread filling him.

“The people we blackmailed were regularly interrogated.” Draco replies curtly. “You knew this, yes? How could you not? Selwyn was captured after all. The man always loved to talk. He oversaw them – the interrogations. Performed them at the ministry even. Thought he was very important. Anyway, you know I was trained in legilimency. Mother began teaching me before the war and Bellatrix took over my education once she escaped from Azkaban. Interrogations were done in this way. Bending people’s minds until you broke in. Siphoning out pertinent information. Hiding what I could when able, but not so much that my mother would be tortured. There were plants sometimes. If I didn’t discover them, I would be punished. It was an endless cycle of misery.”

There’s another silence. Harry gets out of bed and goes to stand in front of the other man. Every part of him feels heavy. Stoney. Draco’s eyes flick over him before looking away.

“I’m sorry, Draco.” He says quietly.

“You know I cannot stand pity.” Draco replies icily, lip curling. “You had fewer choices than I did. I’m sorry for what _you_ were forced to endure. What with the prophecy and being the _chosen one_ and everything. _That_ is pitiable. I chose my lot for a long time, Harry. I don’t feel sorry for myself about it. Not anymore. Regretful certainly, but not pitying. I thought you knew that. I thought you understood.”

“But I don’t pity you.” He tries to reassure. It doesn’t seem to soften Draco though. He takes a deep breathe, steeling himself. In for sickle in for a knut. “What does the name Ingmar Junge mean to you?”

“Nothing.” Draco answers immediately, sounding lost. Desperate grey eyes churning something excruciating in Harry’s chest. “That name means nothing to me.”

“Are you certain?” He checks. 

Draco’s face crumples at that. “You’re acting like you can’t trust me. You promised to do your best to prevent your work from hurting me – but this – this is hurting me.”

“This _is_ me protecting you from my work.” Harry argues. Instinctively reaching out and clasping Draco by the forearm. Wanting to draw him close.

“Don’t touch me!” His boyfriend hisses, ripping his arm away and taking a step back until they are staring at each other. Hurt and anger all directed toward him.

“Sorry.” He apologizes immediately, feeling as if a stunning spell’s hit him squarely in the chest. The cold clammy aftereffects and all.

Draco wipes his hands roughly over his face, digging the heels of his palms briefly into his eyes. “Is it this place? Should we leave?” Draco asks in a rough voice.

It takes Harry a moment to comprehend.

“No, Draco. I don’t mind staying here sometimes. This isn’t the same place it was. I wouldn’t stay here if I felt uncomfortable or bring the kids round.” He responds. It’s true. The manor was nothing like the leaden, dark thing he first experienced during the war or the empty ruin he became reacquainted. No. Now it was all Draco. A functional, elegant estate with purpose. “My home is wherever you are.”

Draco sniffs audibly, holding himself stiffly. “I . . . I think you should find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”

“You want me to leave?” Harry restates. The reality of the severity of their argument crashing around him. “The manor?”

“No, of course not,” Draco clarifies, face clouded with emotion. “The children are here, and they’ll want to see you in the morning.”

“Okay.”

-

They have had arguments before but never like that one. It reminds Harry of the gnawing sensation he’d carry around after a big blowout with Gin. Like a rag wrung and hung out to dry.

His neck hurts when he wakes the following morning after tossing and turning for hours in one of the guest room beds. The sprogs at least don’t seem to notice anything amiss at breakfast, but Narcissa sure as hell does. Her light eyes always on him whenever he glances up from his cup of tea. A slight frown on her face and one very pointed look toward Draco when the man arrives a couple minutes later than usual to the table. Looking wane but forcing a smile when the kids greet him.

It is probably for the best he won’t be home tonight and that he has a lunch scheduled with his best friends this afternoon.

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione says with a heavy sigh after he tells them about the argument. “You’ve really put your foot in it this time. Please, _please,_ tell me you at least didn’t start all that after sex.”

“What?!” He yelps, taken aback.

“Argh!” Ron voices, face screwing up. “Why, ‘Mione?! I’m eating!”

“It’s a legitimate question.” She protests. “Don’t be such prudes.”

“How in Merlin’s name is _that_ a legitimate question?” Ron asks looking and sounding unsettled.

“Forgive me for wanting to find out if Harry screwed Draco before he screwed him.” Hermione responds testily. “It could have been a honeypot.”

“That’s not fair and, _no,_ ” Harry defends. “I did not sleep with Draco and then ask him about his experience during the war. He was in his comfy pants.”

“Comfy pants?” Ron repeats confusedly.

“Those mean it’s a no go.” Harry explains in an aside. “Whenever he wears those pajamas it does.”

Hermione raises a critical eyebrow at him. “So you can make the connection between what pajamas he wears and sexual receptivity, but you couldn’t take it the step further that perhaps Draco wasn’t in the mood to discuss the war?” Hermione remarks giving him a disappointment look.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He grudgingly allows after a moment.

Hermione huffs. 

“Is it really that big of a deal?” Ron questions in a contemplative tone. “I don’t think Harry was asking for too much. I mean, Draco trusts him. They’re living together.”

“No, but did it have to happen _right then_? Draco’s been stressed getting the manor finished and probably thinking a lot about the war.”

“I suppose.” Ron acknowledges with a shrug. “But it’s still his boyfriend asking – not some ministry official. Harry was trying to protect him.”

“See?” Harry emphasizes, feeling validated.

“Which is why it might’ve hurt more.” Hermione reasons with a shake of her head at both of them. “You know how to press each other’s buttons. Besides which, Harry, you absolutely _were_ approaching this as an auror and not as his lover.”

“Oh, Merlin.” Ron grouses, looking up at the ceiling. “Nope. I can’t.”

“Get over it, Ron.” Hermione says with an errant wave, refocusing on Harry. “I know personally what it’s like to have your partner ask you questions because it’s his job and not like he cares about what you’re going through. Did you ever even clarify that you were bringing this up because of a potential consultation on a case?”

“Well . . .” He considers with a sigh, scratching at the back of his neck. “I was trying to avoid that – for his sake.”

“Really?!” Hermione comments sarcastically. “That’s your excuse? I was in that meeting. Kingsley cleared you to read him in.”

“Oh, mate.” Ron tsks.

“I – okay, he knew it was auror business, like I said – but he didn’t know _why_ exactly I was asking and then everything got side-tracked and we never got back to it.”

“Why not?”

“He asked me to sleep somewhere else after we fought and then there wasn’t time in the morning with the kids and Narcissa around. There hasn’t been time for us to talk lately. We’ve both been . . . distracted.”

“Distracted?” Hermione repeats with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah. I don’t know.” He replies listlessly. “Work’s been mad, and he _is_ busy. We were both already stressed and then we lost our tempers with each other. Everything is off and I just – I just miss him is all.”

“Oh!” Ron voices loudly getting their attention, face transforming with an obvious idea as quickly as it falls. “Oh.” He murmurs more quietly.

It is Harry’s turn to question his friend then. “What?”

Ron’s eyes shift between them. Face suddenly apprehensive and sighing deeply. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what, love?” Hermione questions with a sideways glance to Harry.

The man’s mouth crooks sadly. Muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

“Out with it, Ron.” Harry demands.

“You two need to shag.” Ron says in a rush with a put-upon expression. His face going bright red to match his hair.

Harry snorts. “I doubt he’d have me. _He_ didn’t even want to share a bed with me at the end of the row. We’ve never slept apart even if we were cross with each other.”

“But that’s it, isn’t it? A part of it anyway?” Ron speculates with a deeply unhappy look on his face. “You two are used to – you know – a lot or _more_ and that’s not been happening.”

“Maybe.” Harry permits with a sigh and the creeping feeling that Ron’s right. He _had_ been missing being close to his boyfriend. Getting more agitated and bent out of shape.

“Excuse you,” Hermione ruffles, directing her ire at her husband. “Why can’t I ask about their sex life, but you can?”

“I don’t know. I don’t make the rules, ‘Mione.” Ron says in a dour tone.

-

When he eventually returns to the manor – days later than he’d like – on the day of the big dinner, he enters the manor undetected. There is a stone archway built into the east side of the manor he makes a quiet entrance through with the help of his invisibility cloak. Draco built it for more surreptitious comings and goings. He said the place used to be full of them. His boyfriend restored a few and made a couple of his own. This is one of them. It is nice to avoid the main entrance. He spied a group of people exiting when he arrived and was glad to miss interacting with them.

He heads directly to Draco.

This time of day, his boyfriend is in one of two places at the manor, his office or the lab. He finds him in the office. Draco is writing at his desk while dictating to another quill taking notes before him. It sounds like he is making a list for ingredients or plants he needs. Harry doesn’t get a chance to observe him long before Draco looks up, but he likes what he sees. White blonde hair looser today, tucked behind one ear, and looking recently trimmed. His boyfriend is dressed in a dark purple three-piece suit with a lightly striped, lilac button up underneath. It isn’t one he’s seen before. It looks good. Handsome and brighter than what he usually gets to see on the man. He notices Draco is still wearing the ring he gave him. Part of Harry had been afraid it would be banished when he returned. Instead, his boyfriend has it on as usual along with the cufflinks Harry gave him so many months ago.

“Hi.” He says dumbly when he realizes Draco is silently returning his gaze. Staring. Grey eyes going over him and making him feel warm despite the uncertain welcome.

The man stands, crossing his arms briefly before allowing them to fall back to his sides. Expression guarded. “You’re back.” Draco states.

“Yeah.” He responds, running a hand through his hair. “I missed you.” He begins trying not to cringe with how blunt that sounds. He takes a step forward. “You look great.”

Draco glances down as if to remind himself what he is wearing, hand rising to fiddle with the buttons on his waistcoat. “Thanks, er, you –

“Look like I’ve been knocked around by a couple griffins?” He cuts in dryly. It was true even. His uniform is dusty and torn. He hasn’t showered in a couple days.

There is a pause before they both try to speak at once.

“I’m sorry, Draco -

“Harry, I –

They stop. Staring at each other. Harry smiles tiredly even Draco’s expression softens.

“You first.” He prompts.

Draco sighs and walks around the desk to face him. “I need to apologize. I overreacted. I’ve been thinking over everything and I realize that when it comes to the ministry – to aurors – I can be very tetchy.” He explains, giving Harry a concerned expression. “I realize there _are_ elements of my past I’ve been quiet about, but it’s more to do with my wanting to move past them than hiding anything. I’ll try to be more open with you in the future.”

“Oh, Draco, I’m the one who’s sorry.” He apologizes, taking another step forward. “I shouldn’t have brought it up then and the way I did. I pushed you to talk when you clearly didn’t want to and I didn’t explain myself properly either. It wasn’t my proudest moment.”

“No.” His boyfriend acknowledges.

“I _do_ trust you,” He swears. “But I know I hurt you too and I regret that very much. _I_ need to earn your trust back.”

“You have it.” Draco offers with a sincerity that pierces.

Harry shakes his head. His heart aches.

There have been several times in his life that he has felt like a rotten partner. This is the first time it’s happened with Draco. It hurts in a different way. Now, he hurts because he failed to protect Draco from himself – his worst impulses. The curious, digging instinct to solve every mystery, every problem, without fully considering how he is impacting his loved ones.

When they first began seeing each other it was always him that first initiated contact. Every meal. Every walk around the park. Then every casual touch. Their dynamic has evolved a lot since then. He and Draco reach for each other before he can tell who started and then they’re hugging. His arms tightening around his boyfriend and burying his face in the crook of Draco’s neck before the lump in his throat threatens to overwhelm him.

“I don’t like being apart.” Draco murmurs into his ear. He can feel where the man’s fingers are pressed as if Harry might try to pry them away.

“Me neither.” He agrees.

They remain in the embrace as he lifts his head and tilts Draco’s face toward him. Leaving behind a smudge where he wipes his thumb along Draco’s cheek, resting his palm at the hinge of the man’s jaw. The intensity of the last week’s emotions coming to a boil inside him. 

“I missed you too.” Draco says softly.

Their kiss is one of _those_. The quaffle to the chest, spin you round on your broom variety. They don’t even separate as he watches in amazement as Draco wandlessly brushes the items off his desk with a sweep of his hand and hops up on it. Dragging Harry along with him so he is standing in between the man’s legs.

It is frenzied then as they grab at each other. One of his arms going around Draco’s waist and the other the back of the man’s neck as his boyfriend pulls him in by his robes. Ankles hooking behind him. They meet again for a kiss. Harry is pleased when Draco opens easily and lets their tongues roll against each other. An electric rush filling him with heat as he feels his heart beat that much faster. The hot puffs from their breathing intermingling as Harry hastily opens both their trousers so he can get a hand on them. Magically lubing up his own palm as he goes. He tries to push Draco backward as he ruts up against him, but it doesn’t quite work out as they both fall with a thump to the oriental rug beneath them. Knocking the air out of him at least as he takes the brunt of the landing.

“Shit, sorry.” He says with a grunt. Grimacing at the smarting pain shooting from his hip. Fuck, that wasn’t attractive. He runs his hands up Draco’s sides, catching the man as best he can and rucking his shirt.

“Don’t care.” Draco growls, righting himself by straddling Harry and unbuttoning the fronts of his clothes. Nimble fingers making quick work of it as he moves to Harry’s own.

“Least our cocks weren’t out.” He cracks with a grin.

“Circe, Harry, shut up!” Draco retorts with a roll of his eyes, but the smile he has on thrills Harry to no end. 

They’re both hard when he finally pulls them together. Moving his hand demandingly as he gets them into a fast pace. Keeping his grip tight around them. He watches as Draco fucks into his hand against Harry’s cock causing them both to moan at the sliding friction. Muscles straining in the man’s abdomen and fluttering as Harry glides his fingertips across them. Enjoying the sight before him. The man bites his lower lip as Harry twists his grip around them. Merlin, he feels close.

“Talk to me.” He says, voice low.

“I hate you.” Draco mutters, voice labored as he looks ready to come himself. Eyes half-lidded. Cheeks ruddy and movement becoming uneven. Stuttering. “I hate you so much I love you, you bastard.”

Harry guffaws, feeling like the kneazle who caught the knarl. It’s fucking fantastic. He feels sure again. Surer anyways, and bloody hell, Draco is beautiful like this. Face all desperate and wanting. Grey eyes dilated and lips pink from biting them. “You love me. You love me so much you’re gonna fuck me after this.” He declares.

Draco gives a breathy laugh at that. “You wish, Potter. I’ve plans.”

“I do.” He concedes. “Very much.”

He won’t lie. He takes pride in making Draco come first if he can. It is a near thing this time though as he crests right after his boyfriend. Shooting between the two of them as Draco collapses in phases above him. Every nerve in his body is singing then. Exhilaration in each sense. He wipes a hand distractedly through their mess. Carding his cleaner hand through Draco’s hair where the man is catching his breath beside him.

Ron was right – partly.

It is not a thought he relishes having once they come down from the high. Certainly, Draco would be horrified. But none of that matters now. Not with Draco lying half on top of him and in the space at his side. Resting against each other as they cool off. It is the most at ease he has felt in over a week like a giant knot in his back has been kneaded away. His boyfriend’s hands slowly wandering, pausing here and there, caressing. 

There is a deliberate couple knocks on the door.

“Go away!” Harry yells immediately causing Draco to chuckle beside him.

“My deepest apologies, sirs,” The trembling voice of one of Narcissa’s house elves calls through the door. “But guests are arriving, and Madam Malfoy has requested Mr. Draco’s presence. She also has another concern that needs addressed.”

Draco sighs. The man lifts Harry’s arm, pushing back the sleeve to check his watch. “I suppose it is about that time.” His boyfriend remarks, leaving his hand loosely in Harry’s as they fall back to the floor. Turning to rest his chin on Harry’s shoulder and frowning in a pout.

“Punctual.” Harry teases, tilting his head forward to nudge Draco’s forehead with his own. Bringing his arm back up to squeeze his boyfriend to his side.

“Not according to my mother.” Draco returns with a small smile forming, leaning in to kiss him firmly before separating and sitting up. “If I’m not early, I’m late.”

“What happened to a wizard arriving precisely when he means to?” He complains, half-joking.

“I think that happens only in stories you read the children.” Draco replies wryly, fixing his clothes as he levers himself to his feet. Harry isn’t far behind.

“Damn.” He grouses, setting himself to what order he can. He shrugs off his uniform. It’s a loss for now and he doesn’t really want to wear it anymore today.

“Evening is barely here anyway. We’ve time for later.” His boyfriend tells him with a smirk. “Now, put on a freshening charm and we'll call for some cleaner robes, I believe we have dinner guests.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks. Thanks for reading! I'm 2/3rds of the way done writing this behemoth. Writing these have provided a much needed distraction during these trying COVID times. My work is a lot right now and these are a bit of an escape. I hope everyone is staying safe out there.
> 
> I'm nearly done writing the next chapter. That will complement this one. The plan is for the next few to be fluffy with some attempts at smutty fun before getting to the most serious arc. I'm a sucker for the fluff. Ya'll know that by now. As always, I own nothing but plots.


	21. Over the Garden Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Al shenanigans.

First off - it’s completely unfair that dad and Draco made him share a room with Al at the manor. The whole place has about a dozen bedrooms and there are several in the _family quarters_ where they stay. But dad wanted them in the two closest rooms right next to the ginormous one him and Draco have. Lily gets her own room cause she’s a girl, but at least it’s the smallest of all the bedrooms. Jamie can sorta see why dad wanted to keep them nearby, Al and Lily _did_ get lost a lot in the beginning. He did too, but no one needs to know that. 

Mrs. Malfoy’s room is at the opposite end in the other large suite. Him, Al, and Lily got to go in there once before she started staying at the manor. Her room is even more girly than Lily’s somehow. The lacey curtains were fun to tie together to make hammocks although the house elves didn’t like it.

Olta stays with them here too which is nice. If Jamie’s ever unsure where to go to meet up with everyone else, he can call her, and she’ll help him straight away. Appearing next to him with the familiar snap of her apparating. All the other house elves live at the manor and take care of it. He’s not around them much. Bixby and Dort mostly, but he isn’t supposed to ask them for anything like he would Kreacher or Olta. Dad was very clear on that.

Dad’s been gone for work all week when the weekend finally comes around. They don’t stay at the manor a lot. Weekends mostly, but not every one. They’ve been at the manor lately so Draco can work on the party-tour-dinner stuff he’s planning. That’s just fine by Jamie. The best part about the whole place was the half pitch out back. Mum didn’t even have one and she used to be a professional player. He and Al plan to spend their day playing on it. They’re meant to stay out of the way anyways. Dad said he didn’t want them bothering tour guests, but Jamie suspects dad also doesn’t want them around the reporters on the tour. 

Dad did _not_ like reporters.

It’s still strange for him to wake up at the manor. He’s briefly confused about where he is until the smell of freshly baked bread wafts over him. They eat each meal in a different room. Don’t ask him why. Mrs. Malfoy said once, but he wasn’t really listening. The morning meal is in the family common space which is easy enough to find since it’s outside where their bedrooms are. They sit at a round table covered in a lace cloth. He does his best to avoid putting his fork on the tablecloth. It always seems like he leaves a stain or crumb behind despite his best efforts. Whenever that happens it always seems like Mrs. Malfoy is watching him. Light eyes assessing.

Mrs. Malfoy is so obviously Draco’s mum. They’re just alike. She’s always dressed up and has the same sort of aloof expressions that leaves him feeling uncertain. Prim, proper, and posh in her every word and movement. Like one of the fancy witches in the clothing magazines nan ordered from sometimes. Smiling but distant. If Jamie was unsure about Draco at first, Mrs. Malfoy is another level of impassive. Plus, he usually has the creeping feeling she knows what he’s thinking about.

He doesn’t like that much.

“I should mention, Draco,” Mrs. Malfoy drawls at the end of breakfast as she dabs daintily at the corner of her mouth with her cloth napkin. “Bixby tells me there’s something digging holes on that quidditch pitch of yours at night. He fixes one and two more pop up in its place the next morning. He suspects some creature is coming in from the forest mucking about.”

“Nooo.” Jamie groans despondently sagging forward in his chair. Bixby won’t let them on the pitch if he’s fixing it. He didn’t like him and Al on the pitch anyways. Said they were messy even when he and Al tried to clean up after themselves. And worst of all, except for the pitch the manor was gruesomely, mind-numbingly _boring._

He is certain people can be bored to death.

“Is it gnomes?” Al questions beside him, interrupting his despondent line of thinking. “That happens at the Burrow sometimes. Remember, Jamie?” His brother adds poking him in the shoulder to get his attention. “Remember?”

Draco waves off the sugar bowl levitating beside his tea at his mother’s pronouncement. A frown developing on the man’s face as he leans toward her. “Why didn’t you mention that earlier, Mother? I have a hundred things to do today and we have about twenty people arriving here this afternoon to tour the estate.” He chides raising a critical eyebrow as he once again rescues Lily’s cup of milk from the very edge of the table. Beside Draco, Lily continues to spoon honey onto her toast, humming to herself, and utterly unaware. 

Jamie rolls his eyes. Lily will just set her milk near the edge again. She always did. Draco should just use a charm to keep it from spilling like Dad does.

“Am I supposed to remember every little thing?” Mrs. Malfoy replies airily, expression entirely unconcerned as she directs her teaspoon to stir the contents of her teacup. “That dreadful addition is hardly at the top of my priority list. Thank Circe, it’s at the back of the estate. Perhaps your visitors will not have time to see it?” She tacks on in a hopeful tone.

Jamie watches Draco clasp his hands in front of him, interlocking his fingers. That was never a good sign. He and Al exchange a wary glance. Draco was nice to them, _but_ he had been off the last few days. Frowning more and seeming distracted even when they were reading another chapter together in their book before bedtime. Worried like adults could get sometimes though Jamie didn’t know exactly what about – Dad being gone maybe? Probably. Dad and Draco liked to be together.

“I’ll remind you that your edict to me, Mother, was to do whatever I wish with the estate.” Draco retorts. “Quidditch pitch included.” The man adds with emphasis. 

It was funny watching Draco and Mrs. Malfoy talk. It seemed to Jamie they were arguing but they never raised their voices at each other. So he couldn’t be sure.

Mrs. Malfoy sighs but says no more as she raises her teacup to take a sip.

“You know,” Jamie voices, getting an idea. “Me and Al can help. We can look around and find out what’s doing it. We help nan all the time finding things that get into the garden.”

Draco studies him for a moment, frown slight on his face. Jamie is about to ask again when the man sighs and answers. “Very well, James. You may _assist_ Bixby so long as he allows. If he does not permit it, please leave him to his work.” He instructs.

“Don’t worry, Draco.” Al chimes in reassuringly crumbs from his toast stuck to his face and licking the butter carefully off his fingertips. “We’ll help.”

“It sounds like you are in good hands, darling.” Mrs. Malfoy remarks tilting her head toward him and Al with a shrewd expression. “Be careful not to engage anything too bitey, boys.” She warns them with a smirk.

“Don’t tease them, Mother.” Draco reproaches. “Nothing vicious can get through the wards.” He assures them.

-

They’re allowed to go as far as the bridge that leads to the fields and the forest beyond the manor. Everything else is mostly fenced in or cut off by tall, dense hedges that lead to craggy rock. Now that it’s warmer, he and Al have hiked over most of it, but they haven’t seen everything. The pitch is a way out by foot. Bixby is already there of course, in his snappy uniform, synchronizing shovels to pat down the sod from the small mound of dirt brought in by wheelbarrow. It looks like something has pockmarked the earth, clods of dirt everywhere.

Jamie figures if they don’t talk to Bixby the elf can’t tell them _not_ to help. Al’s brought his canvas bag out for their adventuring. His brother was the sort to try and plan ahead which could be useful at times. Al’s got his tri-scopes out peering through them searching the ground around the pitch. Lenses rearranging to adjust the zoom. The scopes were meant for fans trying to find the snitch at quidditch games, but Jamie figured it would work for their purposes today.

“D’you see anything?” He asks the other boy.

“No.” Al answers after a moment of scanning around. “The holes seem bigger than what gnomes would do, Jamie. You reckon it’s a niffler?”

“Dunno.” Jamie considers scratching the back of his neck. “There’s nothing shiny round here. It’s all just dirt and grass. What else do you see?”

“There’s more holes by that fountain over the garden wall. We should look over there.” Al suggests, pointing ahead, and already walking forward.

Jamie follows keeping his eyes peeled as they walk around the holes scattered throughout this area. They aren’t too deep, but they are pretty much all the same diameter. Small claw marks clear at the bottom of some of them. When they get to the garden’s stone wall sectioning off this side, he gives Al a boost before hauling himself over. 

There’s lots more trees and bushes over here making it denser. Plenty of places for something to hide in this section of the gardens. He feels a bit stupid after a while of investigating each crater and under each plant when they don’t find anything beyond a few mushrooms and patches of clover. They’re a lot further from the pitch too by the time they examine the last hole for clues.

“We’re not having any luck.” Jamie bemoans sitting down beside the small crater and toeing absently at the dirt at the bottom. 

“I really hoped we’d find a creature or treasure at this point.” Al laments with a sigh, plopping down beside him. “Maybe the not-gnome-niffler got sad it didn’t find any treasure either?”

“Yeah.” Jamie agrees morosely. “We should go back. Maybe the pitch will be ready to use now?” He gets to his feet, brushing off the dirt on his clothes. Al tries to stand too but stumbles forward, catching himself by his hands as the strap holding his tri-scopes rips and the lenses skitter forward under a large shrub.

“Not my tri-scopes.” Al grouses, trying to right himself. “Mum said to take care of them.”

“It’ll be okay, Al. It’s just the strap. We’ll fix it.” He consoles.

Jamie side steps and takes his brother by the hand to help him up when the shrubbery before them gives three barks causing them to freeze in place in front of the bush. Its branches and leaves shuddering ominously. A twig snaps loudly and something launches at them. 

“Ah!” Al yelps. Jamie throws himself forward to try and block his brother from the extended claws before he can even properly think about it. Unable to brace for impact, they both get pushed back by a surprisingly strong force causing them all to fall down in a pile of tangled legs and sharp elbows and paws.

He twists on the ground and watches a dirty, damp four-legged creature covered in leaves lean down and licks a stripe up Al’s face. Leaving a trail of saliva behind on Al’s glasses. His brother wrinkles his nose in disgust. The thing wags its tail so quickly that it seems to blur into two tails.

“Oh, gross!” Al complains, wiping at his face. 

The creature barks again and it clicks in Jamie’s head that he’s looking at a dog. Sort of. Mostly. Even with all that stuff sticking to it. Scruffy, muddy, and tongue lolling out. Standing on top of his little brother.

“It’s a crup, Al!” Jamie realizes aloud as the crup’s ears perk at Jamie’s exclamation, tail stopping mid-wag. Its forked shape becoming obvious. “That’s gotta be what’s digging everything up.”

His arm’s cut and shirt torn from where it scratched at him, but the crup seems pretty friendly. He reckons it didn’t mean to hurt him. Maybe it’s just excited? Jamie reaches over and offers his hand for the crup to sniff. Causing the crup to wag its tail again and lick his hand.

“You’re nice, aren’t you?” He says laughing at the tickling sensation. The crup barks once and hops off Al. Circling around his brother in a jaunty little trot. He can see its white and brown fur better now.

Al straightens his glass in the meantime, expression growing concerned. “What d’you think Bixby will do with it – uh, her?”

“I don’t know.” Jamie replies with a frown. The elf was supposed to fix the pitch, but he was also the groundskeeper here. He might want to get rid of the crup entirely, but that seemed such a shame. She was obviously a nice crup. “Maybe if we can get her to stop digging holes, they’ll let her stay with us?” He suggests, feeling satisfied with his stroke of genius.

House elves don’t _know_ everything. Jamie understands this. There are ways to get around their awareness of homes. When he was little like Lily, he used to think Kreacher knew everything that happened in the cottage, but eventually he figured out that elves are like people. Unless their attention is drawn to it, they aren’t going to pay it mind.

That is how he and Al wind up wrapping the crup in Jamie’s torn shirt and place her in Al’s bag to smuggle her into the manor. Because surely, if the crup was with them, she couldn’t cause any more damage. Then they could keep her, right?

What could go wrong?

“Young masters,” The portrait of a Victorian witch proclaims critically, following them through several frames as the two boys walk through the passageway. “You are quite unkept at present. This does not befit your station as the wards of our current lord. We Malfoys value cleanliness.”

“Indeed.” An elderly wizard in equally antiquated garb concurs though he does not leave his seat. “Ablution should commence at the soonest opportunity.”

“What are they saying, Jamie?” Al whispers looking caught as he hauls his much heavier and lumpier canvass bag. Jamie sincerely hopes the portraits won’t notice it’s wriggling. He hadn’t considered _their_ awareness of the house.

“I think they’re telling us to take a bath.” He guesses which is probably right considering how streaked with mud he and Al are. His brother still has a twig in his hair. “We’re getting right on that!” He calls out to the concerned portraits, quickening his pace as they go.

It’s much easier when they get the crup to the loo attached to their bedroom. No one goes in there except him and Al when they’re here. The walls are thick enough that he doubts anyone would be able to hear the crup if she started barking. Plus, it was no problem to smuggle in food and a bowl for water.

They’re able to clean up quick after they wash the crup in the tub. Doing their best to get all the dirt and debris out of her fur. He’s glad he thought to wash _after_ bathing the crup. When she shook her fur out, they got covered in muddy water. The wall and sink did too, but that’s a problem for another day.

-

The next morning, he wakes to the sound of claws scratching on the wooden floor. When he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, he discovers the crup is once again standing atop his brother licking at Al’s face.

“Don’t wanna shower.” Al grumbles, half-asleep.

Jamie stifles his laugh as he climbs out of bed. He gives the crup a few good pets before Al wakes and tries to sit up. Causing the crup to bark excitedly. Jamie grabs her as he and Al hold still. Tensely waiting to see if someone overheard their secret pet.

“Jamie,” Al says sounding concerned. “How long should we hide her?”

“Until dad gets back, I guess.” He replies. It’s something he thought a lot about last night before he fell asleep. She can’t dig holes _inside_ the manor so obviously she should live with them. Besides, where would she live otherwise? The forest? The problem was getting Dad and Draco on board with letting them keep her.

Dad was the main problem. He and Al had begged for a pet of their own for years. Every Christmas. Every birthday. Nothing too big. A cuddly puffskein would have done. Mum would’ve gotten them one - he’s sure of it - but she didn’t have them most of the time. It was so unfair. Plus, dad wasn’t even here right now which further complicated things. Jamie is certain if they show Draco the crup first the man would refuse them out of hand. Or Bixby would find the crup and send her away.

And they hadn’t even given her a name yet.

“We should name her.” Jamie suggests. They’ll have to let them keep her then. “What d’you reckon? How ‘bout Daisy? Or Clover?”

Al shakes his head solemnly. “She’s definitely a Maud.” His brother states with surety.

Jamie stares down at the crup in his arms. She looks back. Dark eyes brightly attentive with her ears on alert. He can feel where her fur was still matted because they couldn’t get something sticky entirely out of it. 

“You’re absolutely right, Al.” He agrees emphatically. “She’s a Maud.”

They stow Maud back in the loo, hastily change, and go to breakfast before Draco comes to check on them. The smell of bacon enticing them to the table. Nothing seems out of the ordinary when they arrive. Mrs. Malfoy, Draco, and Lily are already there. Dressed and ready for the day like usual. One of the house elves Mrs. Malfoy brought with her is serving them. Pitcher of pumpkin juice floating around the table filling glasses and toast buttering itself. He and Al slide into their seats as Draco dismisses the elf and helps Lily fix the cloth napkin tucked into his sister’s collar.

“Did Bixby discover what was digging on the grounds?” Mrs. Malfoy questions suddenly partway through breakfast. Jamie forces himself to act natural, but Al freezes for a second beside him. He hopes neither adult notices.

“No,” Draco responds. “He fixed the grounds but didn’t discover the culprit. He said that he would keep searching. I’m told there are no more holes this morning.”

Jamie purposely doesn’t look at his brother. If he does Al will react and Draco will see and think they’re hiding something – which they are – but still.

“Hopefully, nothing further comes of it.” Mrs. Malfoy comments. “Perhaps those magizoologists you invited to dinner might have some theories? I understand Mr. Scamander is a prominent figure in that field.” She drawls.

“That’s a thought.” The man acknowledges.

Jamie is about to sigh in relief as the topic is finally dropped when Mrs. Malfoy catches him off guard again by speaking. 

“Will Auror Potter be joining us this afternoon?” She inquires gaze firmly on her son. “If I recall correctly, this dinner was meant to be an event you _both_ hosted.”

“I don’t know, Mother.” Draco replies quietly returning his mother’s neutral expression, and again relocating Lily’s drink back toward the center of the table. Away from imminent risk of spilling. “It depends on the case he’s working.”

Mrs. Malfoy hums and sips her tea. “How nice of him to let you look after his children in his absence _and_ take on all the hosting duties.” She remarks.

“Enough, Mother.” Draco rebuts in the testiest voice Jamie thinks he’s ever heard the man use. Even Lily pauses stabbing a sliced strawberry with her fork to glance at Draco. “Harry will return as soon as he is able. He always does.” Draco states firmly.

Jamie frowns at the exchange. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Al doing the same. Draco seemed snappier the longer Dad was gone. He couldn’t blame Draco in a way. He missed Dad too. Him and Al excuse themselves as quickly as possible after that, but not so quick so that Draco would suspect they were up to something. Merlin knows, he and his brother never left breakfast while bacon rashers were still on the table.

Everything is fine the rest of the day. Better even because he and Al play catch with Maud in their room. Throwing an old, stuffed quaffle back and forth from where they stand on their beds as the crup runs madly between them nabbing it occasionally. It’s good fun for a long while, but then him and Al want to go outside. It is sunny out and Jamie is itching to take his broom out and fly around like he was prevented from doing yesterday. 

If it weren’t for the fact they were hiding Maud, they would have brought her with them when they return to the half pitch. He feels bad to leave her alone. She looked so doleful when they left. Al placed the bacon he filched from breakfast on the bathmat and Jamie left her the quaffle toy they were playing with to appease their guilt.

It doesn’t take much to divert his attention once they’re outside. The field looks great now that it isn’t littered with holes and the wind blowing his hair back as he flies is the best feeling in the world. They take a break when Olta brings them lunch, but then they are back on the pitch. Practicing weaving formations and before long it’s time to return.

The main problem turns out not to be dad. 

Jamie’s no auror, but even he knows an overturned potted plant in the family sitting room isn’t a good sign. Particularly since dirt has been scattered all around and there are paw prints leading directly to their bedroom. In fact, the main problem Jamie discovers is the open door to his and Al’s bedroom. The secondary problem is that the door to the loo is also wide open. Dirty paw prints intersect over the carpet with no distinct destination.

“Shit, Al.” Jamie swears running into the room with Al hot on his heels as the two of them run in circles searching for their missing pet. Calling Maud’s name with increasing desperation as they go. They look in the loo, under their beds, in the hamper, beside the wardrobe, inside the toy chest, and under Al’s pillow; but she’s nowhere to be found.

“Shitting Merlin, Maud’s gone!” He swears again. Anxiety gripping him. What if they couldn’t find her? What if Bixby found her first? How were they going to cover this up?

“This is bad.” Al cries dragging both hands through his hair. “Jamie, we’re gonna be in so much trouble. What do we do?”

“She can’t have just disappeared!” He says trying to restrain his panic. “We’ll have to search the manor!”

It is a mad dash through the manor then. Quickly scouring the family quarters and expanding past them to the rest of the second floor before descending in horrible defeat to the main one. Keeping an ear out all the while for adults, house elves, and portraits who might be shouting in astonished dismay at the sight of a crup running loose in the manor. Thankfully, most of the portraits they pass are asleep, but a few utter greetings and question their hurried behavior.

Unfortunately, someone much louder finds Maud before they can. They can hear her exclamations of joy from down the passageway attached much too near the large rooms on the main floor.

“Puppy!” Lily squeals in delight from her place inside the tearoom. Clapping her hands and jumping up and down as Maud bounds around their sister. His sister’s toy tea set shaking on the table from the crup and the girl bouncing around.

“Shhh! Lily!” Jamie upbraids bringing his pointer finger to his lips and jogging over the remaining few steps to his sister. “The crup is a secret! Be quiet!” He demands. There is a loud click of the door behind him shutting making him wince, but it’s just Al when he checks. Maud races straight to Al the moment she lays eyes on him. Front paws digging at Al’s legs as his brother picks her up.

“I’m good at secrets.” Lily declares confidently nodding her head in an assured fashion.

“No, you’re not.” Al criticizes while trying to keep the excitable crup in his arms. Maud squirms and energetically wags her forked tail, clearly trying to escape Al’s grip as she paws at the boy.

“Am too!” Lily argues pouting her lower lip out and looking affronted. “Daddy takes me on secret ice cream trips and I never tell!”

“You just told us.” Jamie responds with exasperation, slapping a palm to his forehead, and beginning to sense their plans were doomed.

“Nuh-uh!” Lily protests loudly crossing her arms.

“Jamie, what’re we gonna do?” Al asks desperately. “We can’t keep a crup _and_ Lily quiet.”

“Let me think.” Jamie says holding up his hand for patience and searching around the room as if the answer might present itself. Something. There must be something he can use here to get around this.

There is a sound of approaching footsteps causing the three of them freeze. Maybe they weren’t the only ones to overhear the commotion? Lily clamps both hands over her mouth, eyes growing wide. Al’s got his hand on the crup’s snout to muffle any errant noise. Jamie presses his ear to the door to listen. He can hear a woman humming a song. Her voice tugs at his memory. He waits for an impossibly long moment, trying to discern if anyone else is out there. 

It _sounds_ like it’s just her.

Still, it takes some courage for him to open the door enough to peek through into the sliver of the opening. He spies the woman he hoped to find standing in the middle of the passageway. Hands clutched behind her back and looking up at the ceiling. Humming tunelessly as she slowly spins in place.

“Psst. Luna.” Jamie hisses as surreptitiously as he can. “We need your help.” He whispers urgently. If anyone can help them hide Maud it was Luna. The woman had been bringing all sorts of strange magical beasts to visit with her since he was small.

“Oh, hello, James Potter.” Luna greets blithely once she spots him. Her lime green dress flounces as she draws closer. A gentle smile blooms on her face as she ducks to speak to him through the ajar door. “I was just remembering you and your siblings might be about. Have you been enjoying the flutterflips here? There appears to be a small colony outside.” She asks him conversationally, expression inquisitive.

“The flutter-what?” He tries repeating, baffled.

“I glimpsed some on the walk up the drive.” She shares delightedly. “It is fortuitous to discover them before the summer you know.”

Jamie sighs. He liked Luna and he knew his parents were good friends with her, but sometimes she was just plain odd. “Would you come in here please?” He requests tersely.

“May I bring my friend?”

“Hello.” A tall, dark haired man greets suddenly. Head popping into the opening of the ajar door above the woman’s head. Jamie rears back in surprise and nearly slams the door in both their faces.

“Oh dear, I didn’t get permission to bring you yet, Rolf.” Luna remarks, glancing upward to the man above her frowning. “I think you surprised him.”

“Sorry, very sorry.” The man – Rolf – apologizes congenially.

“ _Jamie_ ,” Al hisses beside him as the crup whines in his grip. “Just bring ‘em in.”

“Fine.” He blunts looking sternly up at the two adults. “But just you two. No more surprise guests from the hallway.”

“There’s only us now.” Luna promises serenely as she and her friend enter the room. “How lovely, more Potter children.” The woman notes pleasantly as she sees Jamie’s siblings.

Rolf’s face shifts to one of interest as he takes in the room too. “I see a crup’s found you.” He states with a grin gesturing toward Maud who yips once in return.

“How’d you know that?” Al asks as Maud finally manages to escape his arms. Running excitedly over to Luna and Rolf. Front paws coming to rest on Luna’s dress and tail wagging.

“That’s what crups do.” Luna informs them. “They want to be with us. They possess a great deal of loyalty toward wizarding people who take care of them.”

The man gets down on one knee extending a hand to Maud who goes to him easily. Rolf maneuvers Maud around. Examining her from snout to tail. “This is an adult crup.” He tells them cheerily. “I’d say maybe six years old considering the state of her teeth and fur. Based on her undocked tail, I doubt she’s been in the care of wizards. We usually try to hide crups’ magical traits in case they enter the muggle world. She seems healthy enough, but it would be best to have her more thouroughly checked out.” Rolf advises giving Maud a good scratch behind her ears.

“Why all the secrecy?” Luna questions them. “This crup seems friendly enough.”

Jamie hesitates, but Al crumbles immediately. “We were afraid Bixby would get rid of her. We wanted to wait to ask Dad and Draco together if we could keep her as a pet, but Dad’s not back yet.” His brother spills worriedly.

“He’s right.” Jamie confesses. He might as well now that Al’s started. “She’s real nice and, if she stays with us, she’ll stop digging up holes – and potted plants.”

“I see.” Luna acknowledges nodding to herself. “Unfortunately, we cannot remain hidden back here during the dinner party. Your little crup would do all she could to join us even then which would cause more fuss.”

“We should probably go meet up with everyone.” Rolf adds in a calming voice. “If you’d like, we can hold onto the crup until you ask your parents’ permission to keep her.” He offers.

“But what if they say no?” Al asks sounding small.

“Yeah.” Lily muffles through her hands.

“Then Rolf and I will find her a good home.” Luna assures him walking over to Al and ruffling the top of his head. Then turning to Lily who releases her mouth and goes to hug Luna around her leg.

“We could give her a good home.” Jamie asserts stubbornly. He had hoped Luna would help them, but now he’s not so sure if she is.

“I know.” Luna replies softly, smile kind. “We don’t always get what we want, James Potter, but it is better to be straightforward when we ask. Hiding a crup in a tearoom will not help your cause.”

Mrs. Malfoy is obviously not thrilled when they walk into the big posh sitting room with a crup closely following him. Jamie can tell right away. He probably could’ve guessed. She didn’t seem like the sort of lady who would like that. It isn’t only Mrs. Malfoy though. Thankfully, it’s people he knows. Neville Longbottom and his wife, Hannah, are on plush chairs next to each other with teacups in hand as Mrs. Malfoy’s small house elf serves them. Mrs. Tonks, Teddy’s nan, is there too sitting beside her sister on the fancy, old couch. Dark hair done up and dressed for the dinner thing. All the adults looking perplexed at the crup pacing between Jamie and his siblings.

“Hello, children.” Mrs. Tonks welcomes them with a small nod.

“Hello, Mrs. Tonks.” He and Al automatically greet in unison with Lily stuttering behind in her hello. Suddenly seeming shy to encounter more adults as she steps closer to him and Al.

“Children,” Mrs. Malfoy crisply begins refocusing Jamie’s attention on her as she stands, gliding forward and clasping her hands. “My eyes may be failing me, but have you brought some manner of dog into my sitting room?”

Jamie grimaces. “Er, yes, Mrs. Malfoy. It’s a crup.”

“Might I ask why this creature is here?” Mrs. Malfoy questions carefully. Light eyes falling studiously on him. He sees Al out of the corner of his eye fidget beside him.

“We found her yesterday.” Jamie grudgingly admits. “Maud’s the one who’s been digging the holes outside.”

“Maud?” Hannah repeats from her seat.

“That’s what we named her.” Al shares glancing bashfully around at the adults.

“A crup in the manor.” Mrs. Malfoy surmises with a hum and the hint of a smirk that flashes before Jamie can be certain it was ever there. “Will she be staying for dinner?”

“We’d like her to stay forever if Dad and Draco let us.” Jamie honestly replies.

“Indeed.” Mrs. Malfoy comments dryly, turning then to the house elf serving them. “Dot, please be a dear, and summon Draco. His guests are arriving, and I believe this crup business would be of interest to him.”

“Of course, Madam.” The house elf accedes immediately popping away.

“Mr. Scamander, Ms. Lovegood,” Mrs. Malfoy turns gracefully to the other standing adults. “Welcome to the manor. I hope our unexpected crup is to your taste.”

“She is absolutely to our taste. Crups are delightful creatures with many wonderful traits.” Luna returns sweetly. 

Jamie suspects Mrs. Malfoy didn’t anticipate her responding. The older woman hesitates for a split second before gesturing gracefully to the other guests. “Mr. Scamander this is Neville and Hannah Longbottom. I believe you are already acquainted, Ms. Lovegood. Our other companion is my sister Mrs. Tonks.”

“Please call me Andromeda.” Mrs. Tonks intones. 

“Won’t you have a seat?” Mrs. Malfoy proffers extending her hand to the unoccupied couch as the woman returns to her own spot by Mrs. Tonks. “Dot will be back in a moment if you’d like refreshment.”

“Thank you.” Rolf says graciously.

There is a pop of apparition as Dot reappears at Mrs. Malfoy’s elbow. “Madam?” The house elf begins tone uncertain.

“Yes, Dot, what is it?” Mrs. Malfoy inquires. “Will Draco be here shortly?”

“Apologies, Madam, but Mr. Draco is indisposed at the moment.”

Mrs. Malfoy furrows her brow at that. “Well, wake him up. It’s the middle of the day for Circe’s sake. What is he doing napping? He ought to be receiving his guests.”

“Ah.” The house elf voices hesitantly, expression suddenly apologetic and shifting from foot to foot in obvious discomfort.

“Is there something the matter?” Mrs. Malfoy questions frowning down at the elf.

“It is just – Auror Harry Potter has returned to the manor.” Dot announces quickly in her squeaky voice. “You are aware he has been gone for several days.”

“Very well.” Mrs. Malfoy drawls blinking once tone nonplussed. “How does that pertain to anything?”

“And Mr. Draco is . . . _indisposed.”_ The elf repeats, giving Mrs. Malfoy a significant look as she wrings her small hands.

A bizarre silence descends then that Jamie does not fully understand. All the adults except Luna sort of have strange expressions on like they’re trying not to laugh. Neville sputters and coughs roughly into his fist. Mrs. Malfoy’s face does the funniest twitch, and her ears go bright red. Mouth pursing. It is the most he’s ever seen her react to anything. She distinctly reminds Jamie of the bottle of champagne that exploded once at nan and granddad’s anniversary party. All shook up and about to pop.

Mrs. Tonks laughs lightly breaking the awkward silence. “Oh, Cissy. My goodness.”

“Why that libidinous Mr. Po –

“Oh, dear, never mind that,” Mrs. Tonks interrupts, reaching out to rest her hand comfortingly on her sister’s arm. “You remember those early days being in love. Everything is so . . . urgent then.”

“It is five o’ clock in the afternoon!” Mrs. Malfoy replies sounding aghast.

“Actually, Madam,” Dot cuts in using an undertone, clearly attempting to only speak to Mrs. Malfoy, but failing due to the high pitch of her voice. “It is 5:32pm and we house elves have developed a rule to give Mr. Draco and Auror Potter a . . . grace period. There is another forty minutes left by Frill’s estimate.”

“Well done, Draco.” Luna compliments in her far-off way.

-

Dad and Draco do eventually show. Draco leading the way striding through the arched entrance into the main sitting room adjusting the cufflink on his sleeve as he goes. Dad trails behind, hands in the pockets of one his posh cloaks, and grin easy. His dad seems a lot happier than the last time Jamie saw him. Less guarded and gruff. Jamie knew Dad didn’t like to be away so long.

“Daddy! Papa!” Lily shouts exuberantly rushing over to the men before anyone else can say anything. “Jamie and Al got a cruppy!” She declares doing an excited little hop in front of them.

“Oh, did they?” Dad remarks looking over to him and Al. Dubious. “How did that happen?” He asks in a suspicious tone.

He and Al speak at once as the story comes out in bits and pieces. How they found her. Their concern that Bixby would evict her from the estate. Storing – not hiding – her in the loo until they could talk to them. Maud escaping from their bedroom and finding Lily. 

All of it.

“Papa, can we keep her? _Please_?” Lily begs as their tale comes to an end, pulling at Draco’s hands with her lower lip pouted out and trembling pathetically. Jamie is thankful for her performance. His little sister came in a pinch sometimes.

“I don’t know.” Draco responds apparently waffling. “Having a crup is a lot of responsibility and the three of you have to be reminded to take care of Hestia.”

“But Hestia is _Dad’s._ ” Al points out. “And she’s an _owl_ so taking care of her is a chore.”

“And taking care of the crup would be yours.” Dad states firmly. “This isn’t something you lot can shirk on. If you don’t take care of her, we won’t keep her. She deserves proper care.”

“So, we can keep her?” Jamie checks hopefully rocking back on his heels and feeling much lighter than he did a moment ago.

Dad sighs heavily. Him and Draco share one of those looks they have occasionally like they’re debating each other. Dad’s face changes the most during them. Sometimes it was fun to watch, but now isn’t one of those times. It’s hard for Jamie to tell if Draco’s expression changes much. Or what the outcome is.

“Yes,” Draco finally answers as the two men end their silent conversation and they turn as one to face the children. “You may keep the crup.”

He and Al cheer loudly and high five. Maud barks and Lily claps.

“There will be conditions.” Dad interjects raising a pointer finger. Jamie doesn’t care what the conditions are. He finally gets to have a pet!

Maybe the manor wasn’t so boring after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's story existed so early on before I wrote all these others. I just think it's cute. I don't know why the name Maud except that's the name that first came to me and I could picture Al being very sure of it.
> 
> There is a lot going on around the boys and it's fun to explore Jamie's POV on things. How much he picks up on and what he doesn't. This chapter also marks how much change there has been in the Potter family dynamic compared to when Draco first babysat the kids for half a day in a previous chapter. And Luna! Sweet Luna. She'll be in the next chapter too!
> 
> Thanks for reading. I appreciate all comments and kudos. They encourage me and remind me this story doesn't just exist in my saved docs. As always, I own nothing but plots.


	22. Dating II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thanks for reading! All your comments and kudos are very appreciated. This one ended up being a smidgen more angsty than originally intended, but there's loads of fluff too. If you're not interested in the smutty bit, skip the third part. 
> 
> I own no part of this series. I just got plots. I'm guessing I will finish the next chapter in about two weeks. I am unable to crank them out as quickly now since I'm working overtime, but I will complete this series. Stay safe out there, folks!

Harry knows Draco is cautious. His job requires it. His survival did once. It’s the constant vigilance that only fades when tucked away with those you trust most. Those first few times they meet before they’re even dating, Harry finds himself pushing. Already wanting. Unable to stop. Needing more of that unguarded quality. 

Draco’s laugh is wonderful. His smile thrilling. The surprised joy that cracks through the man’s expression when Harry adds something Draco told him in an earlier conversation. Showing he’s listening. The quiet, endeared look Harry gets in those moments is a slowly burning ember in his heart.

It isn’t much different in the first couple months since they started dating. If anything, it’s worse. Harry wants and _wants_. He finds himself desperate. It is so easy and _right_ to be like this. Close to Draco. Becoming closer. Draco sharing more and more with growing confidence. Slowly and in turns because Harry knows his boyfriend _is_ cautious. He waits for the moment Draco tells him something that makes him hesitate. That makes him unsure. Drawback.

“You’ll make fun of me.” Draco complains weakly, face soft in a way that feels like it’s just for him when he leans forward to knock their foreheads comfortingly together.

“No.” Harry draws the word out teasingly, pulling Draco in closer from where his arm is wrapped around his boyfriends’ shoulders. They’re lying in bed at his boyfriend’s flat. Naked and tangled together still which makes Harry ache from the intimacy of it. “How could I ever tease you?” He jokes pressing a light kiss to the bridge of his boyfriend’s nose.

Draco gives him a rotten look for that but the twitch upward at the corner of his mouth gives him away. His thumb rubs distractingly at Harry’s sternum where his hand rests.

Harry grins, wagging his brows. Certain in the knowledge he’s already won. “C’mon.” He prods, pulling Draco in tighter. “For me?”

“My mother of course.” Draco finally answers.

“I thought you’d say your father.” He states honestly surprised.

Draco turns away slightly, laying so that he is facing the bedroom ceiling though still tucked into Harry’s side. His boyfriend isn’t ignoring him. He can read Draco enough now to know the man is thinking. Harry shifts his head to rest against his boyfriend’s shoulder. Waiting.

“He was important to me,” Draco continues in a low tone. “But there was as much uncertainty with him as anything else. I didn’t have as many reservations with my mother. She allowed me my eccentricities at times.” His boyfriend explains.

“Eccentricities?” Harry prompts trailing his hand down Draco’s side, feeling the thin scars’ endings from the Sectumsempra curse there. Raised slivers of skin.

Draco frowns. “Silly things really. You must understand how much of my life was planned out for me by my parents. Father didn’t want me doing anything that wasn’t educational or strictly masculine. Mother permitted me more. For instance, when I was small, she let me play with her scarves and jewelry. Or joined me for tea parties I hosted in the garden with my toy brooms I trussed up as guests.”

“She let you be a child.” Harry surmises. Trying to imagine a young Draco and Narcissa hidden away in the opulent gardens on the manor sipping their tea.

“I suppose.” His boyfriend concedes taking Harry’s hand in his own. Slotting their fingers together. Harry wiggles his own in response. Bringing their hands up to kiss Draco’s knuckles. Enjoying the spots of pink that bloom even now on his boyfriend’s face at the action.

“Nevermind me.” Draco says suddenly with a shake of his head, glancing away. “You said you didn’t have anyone when you were a boy, but what about after you started Hogwarts? Who did you love best then?”

“Sirius for sure. My godfather. I had him for so little, but definitely him.”

“Now _I_ thought you would say Dumbledore.” Draco remarks a hint of teasing in his voice. “You were so obviously his golden boy.”

“Albus Dumbledore loved me,” He allows. “Despite how objective he tried to be where I was concerned, considering he suspected I’d have to be sacrificed at some point. Sirius though, he loved me like a parent loves their child. He wanted the best for me no matter what. I’d never had someone who was just for me – not like that.” 

“I am glad you had him then.”

Harry nods. Thinking about Sirius now didn’t hurt, but he missed him. “He was my dad’s best friend. Him and Remus Lupin and, at one point, Pettigrew.”

“Circe, I haven’t heard those names in so long.” Draco sighs. “Remus Lupin.” He murmurs. “Professor Lupin.”

“My dad and his mates became animagi for Remus while they were still at Hogwarts.” He shares. It’s a story he hasn’t told in a long while. One of his favorites about his father and his friends. “So he wouldn’t be as lonely or afraid during the full moon. They’d all go out to the Shrieking Shack and wait it out together.”

“Really?” His boyfriend responds in a strange tone. Body tensing. Harry imagines in astonishment.

“Oh, yeah. I did some mad things in my day at Hogwarts – you know that – but I’ve no idea how they managed to pull that off. Remus said it took them a couple years to sort out how to do it. I _do_ know that’s one of the most difficult potions to meet all the criteria necessary for it to work.”

“That’s true. An impressive feat indeed for students.”

“You’re telling me.” He replies chuckling. “I never got to ask Sirius much about it.”

“He transformed into a dog, right? A large black one?”

“Yeah.” He confirms, a grin forming on his face. “Sirius was loyal above all else, but he was clever and fun too. That’s why he took that form. They’re like our patronuses – the animagus form – they reflect our core selves.”

Draco hums dubiously. “I’ve never been convinced of that.”

“Were you ever able to produce a patronus?” Harry questions curiously, turning to his side to see Draco clearly. Frowning when he discovers Draco’s face looking pained.

“No.” His boyfriend denies.

“What is it?”

“I – I ought to tell you something. You might not like it.” Draco confesses sounding anxious. Voice tight making Harry concerned. His boyfriend pulls away and sits on the edge of the bed, taking their blanket with him and wrapping himself in it. Back facing him and shoulders tensed. “In fact, I don’t believe you will like it at all.”

“Is it something you did?” Harry guesses nervousness beginning to knot his stomach as the cooler air in the room hits him unpleasantly. “Was it during the war?” He asks.

His boyfriend turns sharply toward him. Expression uneasy like he’s fighting with himself to remain unaffected and failing. “It wasn’t during the war, but it was because of it.” The man grits out frowning like there is a bad taste in his mouth.

“Was it illegal?”

“That is a . . . grey area.” Draco replies averting his gaze.

“Draco!”

“It wasn’t illegal in France!” His boyfriend argues defensively. “Although, I’m not _entirely_ certain what my legal obligation is here. I’ve looked into it a little since I returned, but I didn’t know if I would stay in Britain long and, then, well – you happened, so.” Draco ends gesturing to Harry, face flushing.

“You have to tell me.” He urges. Curiosity gnawing at him.

Draco looks despairing for a second before he drags the blanket over his head. “You’ll hate me.” He bemoans tucking his legs underneath and curling in on himself. 

“I doubt that very much.” Harry disagrees, restraining himself from guffawing. The fact Draco didn’t bring whatever this was to his attention sooner spoke more to his boyfriend being embarrassed or ashamed about it than outright hiding something nefarious. He shivers feeling cold. “Look, Draco, I’m cold and I’d like to have part of the blanket again if you don’t mind.”

An arm twitches once under the blanket covered lump that is his boyfriend then raises obligingly. Offering an opening. Harry sighs, crawling over to join him. He pulls the remainder of it over him, so they are both covered. It reminds him a bit of the blanket forts he’s made with his children – although those were much roomier and brighter. There isn’t much space between him and Draco. The dim light from the lamp and the streetlights outside Draco’s open curtains doesn’t do much for Harry’s vision.

“Well, this is cozy.” He comments trying to lighten the mood. “Thanks for letting me in.”

Draco sniffs. “You were cold.”

“And you’re warming me up. What a good boyfriend you are.”

“I am _not_ a good boyfriend.”

“Don’t say that, sweetheart.” He disagrees. “I happen to be an expert on what kind of boyfriend you are.” Slowly bringing his arms up to embrace Draco. Giving his boyfriend an opportunity to pull away.

The next moment, Draco’s lips are on his. Hot and demanding like they were an hour ago. He opens his mouth letting his boyfriend gently lick in. Sending a buzz of arousal through him at the connection. He doubts that he will ever become fully used to kissing Draco. The flutter of excitement and warmth that grows when they touch. The happiness. His boyfriend’s hands hold on tightly to his arms, embracing him. Harry runs his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. Resting his palm at the back of Draco’s neck, feeling him shudder.

Harry sucks in a heated breath as their mouths separate. The only noise in the quiet him and Draco breathing.

“You overwhelm me.” Draco whispers, resting his cool hand over Harry’s heart. “I never thought I’d like that so much.” He states sounding sad.

Harry can’t quite figure out what happens then. It seems to him Draco goes from being firmly in his arms to a melding of something fluid and rapidly changing in size. Maybe two seconds pass as he tears the blanket off them to get a better look at what’s happening. 

He has been many extraordinary places and played a role in many amazing events, but he has only ever met one phoenix. And the last he saw Fawkes was in 1997 soaring over Hogwarts singing his haunting lament.

The one before him now _is_ Draco. Knows that it must be. He understands this logically, but the emotion that accompanies it is beyond him. An acute, heartrending thing. It is grief and love and awe mixed together with such wrenching force. 

Before him, sitting lightly on rumpled bed linens with his wings folded, is a stunning swan-sized bird with grey and white feathers. His claws and beak are a shimmering silver, bleeding into the darker grey feathers. Eyes a deep black like Fawkes’ had been. Watching him with a similar intensity.

Harry releases a shaky breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Draco, sweet Merlin.” He gasps as goosebumps break out over his skin. “My god.”

The phoenix – Draco – blinks slowly. Head turning slightly away.

“You’re beautiful.” Harry declares wonderingly reaching out to stroke his feathers. Soft and smooth and strong. Warm to the touch. “Absolutely incredible.” 

It is surreal and enthralling at once. 

The silkiness of the feathers trek across his arms as Draco carefully extends one wing. Harry stares at the iridescent color he finds as the smaller contouring feathers in the wing change in the light. He traces his finger along the natural line there marveling at the subtle change in texture.

“I’m going to teach you how to produce a Patronus if it’s the last thing I do.” He states with a grin. 

When he looks back into Draco’s eyes, he holds the gaze as he touches the plumage, running his fingers over it until coming to rest at the top of his head. Lightly scratching there as he watches Draco’s eyes close. A flute-like trill emanates causing Harry’s heart to soar.

It seems the moment is broken then as his boyfriend opens his eyes and Harry wipes a hand roughly at his own watering ones. There is movement and the distinct absence of heat as the phoenix perches at the end of the bed. Harry blinks back tears, clearing his throat.

Draco is silent when he is returned to human form. Body curled inward and at an angle toward Harry that tells him his boyfriend is fighting his instinct to run. Jaw set and eyes returned to their usual grey staring at him. 

“Hey.” Harry starts bluntly still awestruck. “I think you’re gorgeous whatever form you take.”

There is a hitch of noise. Somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Draco’s got his wrist pressing into his nose above his mouth and eyes screwed shut. Stock still. Harry takes a deep breath as he watches his boyfriend compose himself. 

“You’re not –

“Not what?” Harry cuts off keeping his voice pitched low for calm.

“Angry?” The man throws out gutturally. Looking wretched.

“About you being an animagi?” He remarks allowing himself to settle back among their pillows. If he kept himself relaxed perhaps that would help Draco too. “No. The opposite. But, if it’s the registry you’re worried about, I’ll talk to Kingsley and we can figure out what to do.”

Draco gapes apparently still bewildered and upset. “Not – well, not just that – but my form the . . . phoenix.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at the other man. Smile crooking on his face. “What about it other than it’s bloody fantastic?! You’re magnificent.” He affirms.

“I-I thought you’d be angry.” Draco says appearing taken aback, shoulders hunching slightly. “Furious because it’s _me_.”

“Why?”

Draco stares at him aghast.

“Because it’s _his_ symbol!” Draco cries, brow furrowing and clutching at the blankets around him and twisting them in his hands. “Not mine. Dumbledore’s. Yours too. Everyone’s who fought against . . . _him_. All those good, brave people. They should have the phoenix – not me.”

“Draco –

“I’m _sorry_. It wasn’t my intention. I know I don’t deserve it!” The man exclaims, expression fierce and miserable. “I was just so scared someone would try to kill me or put me back in Azkaban. I wanted to be something small. I was _certain_ I’d be next to nothing.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” He argues patiently. “For one, _you_ fought against Riddle at the end.”

“It’s not the same.” Draco denies with a jerky shake of his head, looking away.

Harry tries to be gentle. Crawling forward once more on the bed as he kneels before the man observing his slow approach. Framing Draco’s face in his hands. His palms at the hinge of his boyfriend’s jaw.

“Please, forgive me.” Draco pleads. Eyes shining.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He asserts. Hoping Draco can see how sincerely he means what he is saying. How serious he is. “But you have to hear me now, okay?”

Draco stills at that and Harry fears they’ll be in a stalemate, but then the man nods.

“You did _not_ choose your animagus form. No one gets to. Not my father, Sirius, or Pettigrew. No one. This _is_ part of you, and it is good. _So,_ good. Please, please, believe that, for me?” He beseeches. 

Draco’s face screws up at that as if to deny the words. “Harry.” The man starts in complaint, circling Harry’s wrists with his hands. Holding him tightly despite their trembling.

“No.” He states emphatically, shaking Draco once slightly in his hands. Perfectly aware his boyfriend is trying to find an argument. “Please believe you are good – that you’re capable of it.”

“I’ll try.” Draco whispers. 

-

“How long have you and that Scamander bloke been a couple?” Harry asks the second they have a moment alone in the alcoves outside the manor’s great hall. “You two seem very . . . close.” He teases. It was obvious – at least to him – how the two were mooning at each other. Smiles fond and dopey as they moved in sync. Utterly content in their own little orbit.

Luna smiles up at him, eyes shining in a way he’s never witnessed in her before. He’s happy for her. “Ginny told you.” His friend accuses lightly.

“She didn’t.” Harry denies raising an innocent hand. It’s been months since he’s seen Luna. The last he saw her she was setting out on a trip to Malaysia with a team of magizoologists. “It was a guess on my part – truly. So, how long?”

“I suppose it depends on when you start counting.” Luna begins thoughtfully, tilting her head in consideration. “Rolf and I have been friends for years. Of course, we’re colleagues too. We’ve travelled around the world together meeting and learning about so many creatures. It’s been marvelous really, better than I could have dreamed – and I’ve dreamt a lot. I have a great deal of affection for him, but I’ve only very recently realized there is romantic love between us.”

“It can be intense then.” He comments. Mind going over those first few months with Draco. The infatuation becoming love.

“Oh yes, the last three days have been incredibly sexually invigorating since Rolf confessed his feelings.” Luna states simply.

If it were anyone else in the world, he would be howling in laughter right now, but it’s Luna. So instead he gives her a hug, lifting her briefly off her feet, and guffawing.

She squeezes back, grinning. “I am not the only person lucky in love. I’m glad you and Draco found each other.”

“Thanks. I am too.” He replies, but there is something that changes in Luna’s expression. “Is there something else, Luna?”

“Rolf asked me to marry him.”

“Ah.”

Luna nods. “I told him I had to think about it. What did you like about being married?”

He sighs, leaning against the wall and gazing across the courtyard. Eye catching briefly on Ginny who is cackling with George and Angelina at the children playing with a fanged frisbee on the lawn as Maud frolics merrily about them. Lily, Hugo, and the Goyles’ little girl chasing after the crup.

“I liked feeling loved.” He replies slowly, gathering his thoughts. “I liked feeling I legitimately belonged somewhere and wasn’t being begrudgingly tolerated.” Harry tells her. “I never felt loved or wanted growing up so once I got a taste of it, I wanted it all. I didn’t get married for entirely the right reasons, but they weren’t wrong ones either.”

“What was missing?”

“I didn’t marry Ginny just for Ginny – for her love above all else. I failed her in that way. We wanted a lot of the same things in life, but not enough of them. I wanted to be together as much as possible. But Ginny needed more freedom than that. I pushed for kids and she seemed to struggle more after each one. We – the distance is what killed it for us, I think. Made us realize that we were more content apart. Then that last year we were together _all_ the time and still couldn’t fix anything. It felt like she was only there because she was pregnant and then because of my injury. There was a lot of resentment between us and we didn’t talk about _any_ of it. We just weren’t right for each other in the end. We didn’t want to be together.”

“Thank you for your honesty.” She tells him, patting his arm.

“Sorry for blathering on. I know you’re Gin’s friend too . . .” He trails off. He trusts Luna implicitly, but he knew it was hard for their friends and family to hear why he and Gin didn’t work as a couple. He usually avoided speaking about it. But Luna was often an exception to topics he typically avoided.

“Everyone seems to have a different opinion on the subject.” She comments with a sigh. “What you need and what you don’t in a marriage. No one’s been alike.” 

Harry shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s like anything else. You have to decide for yourself what you want out of it.”

“Are you going to marry Draco?”

“I’d like to one day.” He admits. It’s the first time he has said it aloud. “If he lets me.”

“I imagine he would.” Luna says conversationally. “You two complement each other which is difficult to do – especially for two unusual people. And Draco Malfoy is one of the strangest people I’ve ever known.”

“Oh?” He prompts chuckling. Amazed that Luna Lovegood of all people thought Draco odd. Talk about the pot calling the cauldron black. “How so?”

“Draco tried to smother his best instincts for a long time, but then - when it would benefit him most - he stopped.” Luna explains in her far off daydreamy voice, expression thoughtful. “I believe he must have discovered something irrevocably good within him. I don’t know what. He was punished for it – whatever it was – by the death eaters. Everyone knew he was on thin ice, and despite that, while I was a prisoner here, he used to smuggle us extra food and water. Once he brought old Mr. Olivander medicine. I was sad to hear they kept him in Azkaban before his trial finished. I feared he might be killed there. That’s why the memories I submitted to the ministry included those times Draco helped us – did you ever see them?”

“No.” He answers. Unfortunately, it made sense that he hadn’t seen them. If the memory didn’t pertain to a crime, then it was discarded as evidence.

“I gave them directly to Kingsley the evening before the Malfoys’ trial. We watched them in the pensieve together. I wanted to be certain he saw.”

There is a pause. Leaving Harry wondering if Kingsley factored Luna’s memories into his final judgement on Draco. He knows for himself it would be challenging to omit any additional shred of kindness evident in someone so young who was facing such a heavy sentence. The burden of that particular responsibility.

“Draco’s patronus is a phoenix you know.” He discloses, certain Luna will understand.

“Is it really?” Luna responds tone awed. “I suppose that makes sense.”

They look over the crowd of people together. He finds Draco in it this time. Standing to the side of Astoria who is obviously telling quite the story based on her hand gestures and the group assembled. His smile small and assured, posture relaxed. Handsome in the patient, bemused expression on his face. They’re far apart, but Harry feels it to the marrow of his bones when Draco shifts slightly and realizes Harry is watching. 

Eyes finding each other instantly in that way that has Harry’s heart tick faster. His boyfriend’s smile widening as they stare at one another for a moment. Enjoying the comfortable warmth of love that passes between them. The trusting reciprocity of it.

“Do I look like that,” Luna questions softly at his side. “When I’m with Rolf?”

“Yeah.” He replies, winking at his boyfriend before turning back to his friend.

-

Draco’s biting his lower lip. Watching him uncertainly as Harry ties himself up. Wandlessly directing the rope to bind his wrists and feet, tying them together where he is on his knees, forcing himself to lean back fractionally on his haunches until he can feel the slight burn in his hip from the strain. Leaving himself open and exposed to Draco. Absolutely starkers. The cold marble floor of their private bathroom at Grimmauld grounding him.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable, Harry?”

“Yes.” Harry reassures, testing the bindings. Pleased with the restriction he finds there. “You remember the safety word?”

“I’m hardly the one who needs –

“Draco.” He interrupts scolding. Leveling his boyfriend a serious look. Merlin’s beard. They’ve been through the safe word talk dozens of times now. It was for _both_ of them.

“Fine.” His boyfriend acknowledges shortly, crossing his arms. “Cabbage.”

Harry considers his boyfriend. Draco is still fully dressed in a smart navy suit sans his cloak jacket. Halfway through a glass of wine. Fidgeting with the stem. His hesitant movements making him rethink their plan.

“We don’t have to do this. We’d have plenty fun doing something else.” He offers. It wouldn’t be the first time they decided to do something different during prep. He was okay with that and he knew his boyfriend was assertive enough to tell him so.

“No.” Draco states, brow furrowing and standing straighter. “I want to try. It’s just . . . well, if I’m not any good at it or you don’t like my surprise, I want you to tell me. Don’t let me make a fool of myself.”

Harry huffs amusedly. “I promise.” He swears grinning. Draco was cute when he was nervous about being sexy. The earnestness of it never failed to endear Harry to him further. There was very little the man could do to turn him off.

He watches Draco take a long drink of wine, Adam’s apple bobbing, as he drains his glass. Then running a distracted hand through his hair before setting his glass down on the counter and turning his back to Harry. Mirror letting Harry observe his boyfriend’s face. Expression composed despite his ruffled hair. Messy the way Harry loves best. His shoulders moving minutely under his shirt as Harry’s eyes wander down the man’s back. Following the lines of the waistcoat tapered to compliment Draco’s slim hips. He permits himself to begin soaking in the moment. The heavy sensation that is creeping into his bound limbs. How keen that makes other parts of him.

“Do you know how much I admire you?” Draco murmurs, staring at him through the mirror. Grey eyes steely. Focus totally on him the way he craves. “How vulnerable you allow yourself to look? But that’s what you like. You like to be held back. You like someone to be rough with you. Let them feel like they’re in control – be teased.”

Draco turns casually toward him, walking the few steps separating them until they are inches apart. The light from the sconces giving Draco’s hair and skin a golden sheen. Each step sending a jolt of anticipation through Harry, settling somewhere in his lower belly. Hyperaware of the small distance between them. 

“But it’s a façade, isn’t it?” The man rumbles making him shiver. Already _burning_ to touch as his body tenses. “You’re in control of everything in this room. _I’m_ not the one who has any say when we touch. _You_ made the rule.” Draco reminds holding himself tauntingly nearby.

Harry swallows dryly at that, watching Draco’s hand drifts down the front of his waistcoat. Buttons opening in his wake. The soft sound of metal catching. Close enough now that he can see his boyfriend’s chest rise and fall with his breathing. The scent of his cologne. Heady like a forest after the rain. 

“That’s _nothing_. A few undone buttons? That’s what gets you going?” Draco drawls. “Is that all you need?”

“No.” _Yes._ Comes a more traitorous voice in the back of his head.

“I thought not.” The man agrees with a half-shrug, taking a step back, slowly discarding his waistcoat and beginning to unbutton his shirt sleeves. “No, you want me to break your control. You want me to make you break your rule or come untouched.”

_Yes._

“Either way a monumental task. You’re the great Harry Potter after all. Powerful auror. Paragon of goodness. The one everyone wants,” Draco tells him matter-of-factly. That low voice _does things_ for Harry. “But they don’t know what goes on behind closed doors, do they? They don’t know how much – how far – you’ll go to get your hands on me.”

Draco drags a palm down his front, rumpling his shirt as he goes, causing Harry’s own stomach muscles to clutch in response and one of his tied wrists to twitch. His cock begins to fill growing interested in the proceedings.

The man raises one inquisitive brow. “Calm yourself, Potter. I’m not even undressed yet.” He says teasingly, hand going to his belt and unfastening it. 

Harry licks his lips. “But you put on such a pretty show.” He crrons.

“Flatterer.” Draco returns smirking. Dropping the belt to the floor with a soft metallic clink. “Do you think that will help you now?”

“We’ll find out.”

“We will, won’t we?” The man states like it’s a challenge.

It’s a losing battle. Not that he’ll admit that to Draco. He can feel himself start to sweat as his boyfriend starts to undo his shirt. Draco glances shyly up as he goes. Revealing more skin flushed pink from Harry’s attention. Clever fingers flicking open the fronts of his trousers as the slacks lower over trim hips. Harry’s breath hitches at the dark, delicate cloth left behind. All sensation rushing south. Beginning to feel floaty rush he was seeking.

Harry whines at the sight before him. 

“Do you like?” His boyfriend questions huskily. Face intent and a flash of something uncertain in his dilated eyes.

“Yes.” He groans out, trying to pull himself forward, halted immediately by the binding. Transfixed with the view in front of him. Draco hard and leaking in lacey, plum-colored underwear. Clinging to his boyfriend in a manner that hid nothing. “Fuck, Draco.”

“I bought these with just you in mind, love.” Draco remarks, kicking off his trousers that had fallen around his ankles along with his shoes. “I’m not terribly adept at dirty talk, but I hoped you would appreciate this purchase. It’s my gift to you after all.”

The man leans back against the counter, hips jutting forward. Displaying himself. The ropes bite Harry’s wrists as he tries to move forward. He wants to put hands on him. Feels his internal restraint slipping as he watches Draco begin to palm himself, biting his lip again and returning Harry’s hot look. The other hand ghosting over his torso, pausing by his collarbone. Drawing tight circles there.

“You’ve spoiled me.” His boyfriend intones, dipping his fingers into the lingerie to take hold of himself, eyelids fluttering shut. “It’s only you I want touching me now. Only you. Want you touching me. Holding me.”

“Yeah?” He prompts, muscles tensing as he tries to hold himself still. Senses split between watching his boyfriend stroke himself and the feeling of his own cock hard and aching. The expression on Draco’s face is dazed. He suspects his is the same. Loopy on the sexual tension in the room. Entranced. “You want me, sweetheart?”

“Hmmm, of course . . .” Draco agrees, head falling back so Harry can gaze at the long line of his boyfriend’s neck. Hand teasing the head of his cock as the other moves to play with his nipple. “Always want you.”

“Tell me.”

“Never thought I’d have anything like you, love. How could I? You’re so handsome – beautiful. Circe, I love your body. You’re so strong. Love your hair. Love _you._ The way you feel against me. Never let anyone touch me the way you do. You’re so bloody tight and big. Don’t know if I want to be in you or you in me.” Draco says sounding desperate, moving his hand quicker. “Want you to touch me now. Don’t you want to?”

_“Draco.”_

“Please?” Draco questions breathily. Eyelids heavy as he opens them, holding Harry’s gaze. _“Daddy.”_

His arms and legs are pins and needles, but by the time he grabs Draco it doesn’t matter. The rope in tatters and frayed on the floor. All that exists to him is the solid heat of his boyfriend’s body and the gust of raspy laughter that fills his ears. Something noisy is falling off the counter and rolling solidly over the floor but he pays it no mind. He’s got a handful of lace pantie and Draco’s legs locking around him. Lifting his boyfriend onto the counter. He has done enough looking for tonight. 

He kisses Draco roughly like he deserves. Their teeth briefly clacking as they automatically adjust. He’s got his hand around both of them in record time, pumping them roughly together from root to tip. The feel of the silky lace an enticing texture where it’s shoved down by their balls.

“Harry, _please_.” The man gasps in his ear.

“Got you, sweetheart.” He assures. Draco’s kissing him like he’s been dying for it. Hips rocking against each other in a quick rhythm. The man’s fingers dragging up his back. Touch hot, so hot, pulling them closer. Mouth sucking hard at the pulse point at his neck. Everything is Draco and him. How they move together. Bodies in tandem. The gorgeous man against him writhing. Vacillating between watching them in the mirror from a new angle and them in his hand. Draco’s hips still covered in the lingerie. 

Pleasure explodes out of him, ricocheting up his spine Harry arches forward as he comes against Draco’s stomach. Moaning as his body shakes from the shock of his release. Draco thrusting himself into the grip he left around them. He feels oversensitive as his boyfriend jerks hard in his hand and comes too. The man emits a grunt and there is a dull thud as the back of Draco’s head hits the mirror.

It feels like someone’s hit him with a jinx as his legs wobble. Thankfully, Draco’s enough sense to hold him more securely as the man helps him to lay on the floor. His boyfriend kneels beside him. Hands going over him to investigate the parts where he was tied.

“Rope burns?” He finally manages to ask. Body still throbbing in a very pleasant way. Merlin, he wishes he could bottle this feeling. The afterglow. Draco prodding at him, checking to see if he’s okay. Replaying his boyfriend’s sex voice in his head. Over and over.

“No, are you hurt?” Draco inquires, fingers kneading at his arms. Face concerned. “Sore? You want water?”

“Water, please.” He requests, pushing himself into a sitting position. Draco’s quick to do so, handing him a glass that he downs.

“I love you.” He tells his boyfriend when he’s drank enough and caught his breath. “That was so bloody hot, Draco. You were fantastic.” He compliments, ducking in to kiss his boyfriend’s cheek.

He earns a bashful smile for that. One of his favorites.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

-

_Mr. Malfoy & Mr. Potter,_

_It was my great pleasure to attend the recent celebration at Malfoy Manor. As a senior member of the Magical Britain’s Historical Society, it was a delight to see a structure of such historical significance returned to full use. Mr. Malfoy, the last time I was at your ancestral home was for the occasion of your great-aunt’s wedding. I must admit that the current state of the manor is much preferable._

_We have much to be grateful since the end of the war. Celebrations of this manner are the highlight of peacetime. They are the fruition of effort and hope. I believe Albus Dumbledore would have been delighted by the event. Additionally, Mr. Potter, as yours and your parents’ former head of house, I am confident in stating that they would be immensely proud of the life you have built with Mr. Malfoy. Goodness knows, I am._

_Regards,_

_Headmistress M. McGonagall_

_P.S. If you have any marital announcements to make in the near future. Please due so before October of this year. I rather have a wager in place._


End file.
